


The Church

by ZreeZree



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: 1920s, F/M, Historical, Reader-Insert, Romance, Swearing, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14817992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZreeZree/pseuds/ZreeZree
Summary: Imagine waking up in a church dressed in a priest's robe and stockings, munching on eucharists for breakfast. Not only were you not in 2018 anymore, but seemingly in the time of the Peaky Blinders. It was supposed to be a silly dream, but when you're gazing into the icy eyes of Thomas Shelby and trying to hide your sacrilege: things get a little interesting and kooky.Tommy Shelby X Reader





	1. Church Alarm

It all began with a distinct jolly tune.

"Son of a-"

“In the name of the father, the son, the Holy Spirit.” You heard a strong voice call.

“Amen.” A group of people answered in unison.

Trailing your wide eyes down, you were bundled up in layers of red robes and stockings.

Priest robes and stockings. A prominent, golden cross was stitched at the chest.

You couldn’t possibly be still stuck in a dream?

Yet the feeling of your makeshift pillow beneath your finger tips, composed of two dresses and the numbing cool timber floor under your backside was not the ideal dream or reality.

You could not exactly step out from the organ in the middle of the mass. Nor could you walk around as bumbling, clueless priest. A female one at that.

Pulling out one of the dresses that you had used as a pillow, you figured that it would be a wise decision to get changed and wait for the mass to be over.  
Otherwise…you would most likely be charged with sacrilege. 

By the time the mass ended, you had annihilated a packet of ‘eucharists’ that you ‘borrowed’ from the night before. They were almost like crisps or chips. They were thin and round, only it tasted like paper. 

After tying the leather laces of your ‘borrowed’ boots and fixing up your charity-given dress, you sucked in your stomach and somehow squeezed through the gap of the organ and wall.  
The church looked quite beautiful in day light. The high wooden arches and gorgeous art works that painted the ceilings were breathtaking.

Except they scared the living shit out of you last night every time a candle flickered on the faces of religious icons.

One saint’s calm face and warm brown eyes looked like a ghastly, shadowed entity that stared at you from every corner of the church.

The massive crucifix with a bloody Jesus stared at you forebodingly last night and you swore it moved.

You never felt so cold and alone anymore with all these religious icons and the candle flickering shadows over their faces that made them look positively demonic.  
Along with random, hollow bangs and creaks that seemed to occur.

You could have sworn that the place was haunted.  
Yet, it all looked so comforting and warm in the day light.

The grinning devils from hell that teased you from the ceilings were instead giggling cherubs swinging from clouds. They even seemed to wink at you.  
Shaking your head, you let out a sigh with a grin.  
You were so silly.  
But…you needed to something about your living situation. To get an actual place of your own with a proper bed.  
You thought this dream or better off to be called ‘nightmare’ was over when you fell asleep behind the organ.

There was nothing like waking up in the middle of the night in singlet and shorts on cold concrete with rain bucketing on you.  
With no light and no one in sight you managed to sneak into a church after nearly breaking your bones trying to climb in through a window.  
You pinched yourself.

Nothing. 

Sighing, your eyes scanned around only to narrow onto a figure.

Muscles tensing, you immediately hid behind a pillar, and peered from behind it.

The figure was a woman dressed in a long, grey vintage dress. It was finer than all the dresses you scanned and took from the priest rooms last night. Maybe it is just the style here? Her hands were clasped in what seemed to be a deep prayer, some stray curls escaped her hairpins and it framed her cheeks.

She then turned around.

Polly.

That was Polly Shelby.

You immediately hid back behind the pillar and began pinching at your arms and your face. Closing your eyes as tight as possible, you began to hold your breath. Counting to twenty, you opened your eyes and heaved in a breath. Fingers curling against the cool pillar, you slowly creeped your head out enough for one eye to peek. 

She was still there!

The woman who you absolutely adored from the show was…there. Right next to a set of candles, her posture straight with her hand clasped and her eyes closed in a deep prayer. 

Eyes wide and mouth slack you stared at her in awe. A fly could have flown in your mouth at how wide it hung.

She abruptly stood up, her heels clicking and clacking as she walked towards the exit, moving her hands in the sign of the cross before leaving.

Your eyelashes blinked feverously as you stared at the closed door of the exit. 

…Were you in Small Heath?

You took slow, tentative steps to the exit. Hand pressed against the door, you inhaled before pushing the door.

Grey.

It was grey and miserable. Dark pavement covered the street as passer byers dressed in ‘vintage’ clothes. Ladies were dressed in long dresses with sheik bobs while pushing strollers of large four wheels. 

Men were dressed in slacks and smoking cigarettes.

THUMP.

The large oaken door bumped you forward and knocked you to your knees.

No one paid mind, instead directing their gazes forward and leaning their heads down.

Clip. Clock. Clip. Clock.

A repetitive rhythm of hooves alerted your ears as you looked to your far right.

Slowly you stood as a figure approached on top of a pure black stallion. His posture straight, one hand on the reins and the other hand comfortable against his thigh. His eyes were hidden beneath a grey  
cap, that matched the grey of the three-piece suite he was wearing.

You swallowed as you stepped back slowly, hands grasping at the oaken door behind you for support.

“Surely not?” You whispered out loud, slowly pushing the door behind you.

Your eyes widened as he approached closer. That chiselled jawline. Those plump, delectable lips. 

You practically threw yourself backwards into the church, your backside hitting the cold tiles of the floor. 

Your leg pushed the door close with a loud BAM. Falling onto your back, you placed a hand on your heaving chest. It felt as though there were a jackhammer instead of a heart beneath your hand. 

“Tommy Shelby.” You whispered. 

“Thomas fucking Shelby.” You uttered once more, breathlessly. Heavens he was even more devastatingly handsome in the flesh.  
You had to be losing it. First Polly and now Tommy. It’s not like you could magically just ‘poof’ into the fictional word of the Peaky Blinders, right?  
You kept pinching at yourself, leaving welts on your arm. 

“Oh, fuck me.” You covered both hands over your face. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity Fuck-Fuck.” 

That’s it. You were going insane. Maybe you were in some sort of coma? You did watch three seasons again during the weekend and have been avidly reading fanfiction. 

It must be that. 

But all you did was go to bed.

Next minute here you are. 

You were not waking up. A dream would have ended ages ago. 

“What do I do?” You whimpered, hands still covering your eyes.

“Why am I here?” You asked aloud, this time gazing at the ceiling filled with paintings of angels and other religious figures. Oh, and clouds. There were plenty of clouds…

You sat there for minutes, unmovingly. 

Bubbles and loud squelching noises permeated through your stomach. Those eucharists from before were not filling. You need food. You need deodorant. You need money.

“A job. I need a job.” You rubbed your stomach.

“…The Garrisons.” You whispered as you gazed up at the chubby cherubs in the ceiling. They seemed to be smiling at you with a thumbs up. 

“The Garrisons!!” You exclaimed, your shout echoing through the church. You stood up and waved at the ceiling. “Thank you!”

For scary little devils that they were last night, they were quite comforting in the day.

With finding the Garrisons in mind you began to scout the place with a spring in your step. Only to find that Small Heath was a lot larger than you anticipated. It was not a ‘small’ heath at all. You walked and walked. Only to realise that you had gotten yourself ridiculously lost. The streets were winding. There were no clear signs of streets. There were no maps. You certainly had no mobile or GPS. 

You were on your own. 

The smell of pastries wafted into your nostrils the further you walked. Your stomach began to growl at you unforgivingly, most likely digesting itself in its own juices. Groaning, you paused outside a bakery and stared at all the delicious treats through the glass window. It was all there to mock you. There was a cinnamon scroll practically waiting there to be inhaled by you. If only you had money. 

Sighing, instead you decided to ask inside for directions.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know where ‘The Garrisons’ at?” You asked politely.

The baker looked at you up and down,” Now why would you be wanting to go there? It’s dangerous, the Shelby lot are always there.”

“There was a noticement that they have been looking for a barmaid.” What on earth were with people being so nosy here? 

“Aye, if you keep going straight and on the third left it will be there. Be careful young lady!” The baker warned, wagging a finger. You nodded and thanked him.

When the Garrisons finally came to view, your mouth practically dropped. It was bizarre to see it in actual reality. You stood there gaping for what seemed like minutes and had even gotten strange looks from passerbyers.

Entering, you immediately saw the familiar bar tables and the musky scent of alcohol wafted your senses. It was a pub alright. 

You even saw Harry, polishing the glasses away behind the bar.

“Can I help you there love?” He asked with a welcoming smile, eyes crinkling. 

“Yes! I had just seen your advertisement for wanting a barmaid, I would like to apply for the job!”

Harry paused, his smile disappeared as he stared at you incredulously. Oh, you already knew what was running through his head.

“I saw it just this morning. I know I look young, but I did work at my uncles’ bar back in Australia. I was also the book keeper. Give me one night and I can prove it to you sir!” 

Harry put down the glass and stroked his chin. “Australia aye?”

You nodded,” Born and raised.”

He sighed and gave you one more look. “One night. Tonight, be here at 8 o’clock. I will give you a chance. But be prepared, they are a rowdy lot and will not be easy on ye.”

You must have started grinning like a maniac for he let out a chuckle. “See you tonight and thank you!” You called as you practically skipped out of the pub. Only to run into a familiar blonde lady. Grace. 

Her blues eyes widened in slight surprise as you smiled at sheepishly.

“Sorry excuse me,” you apologised, you nodded towards her before stepping out.

You forgot about her. Tommy’s love. 

Upon seeing her up close, with blonde gentle curls that frame her face, you could not blame men for fawning over her. 

At least you beat her to it for the job.

Sighing, you decided to walk around. There was nothing better to do until eight. You also needed to work out what time it is and whether there is a local clock around.

Loud hollers and the clinking of glasses greeted you as you stepped into the pub. You had to mutter ‘excuse me’ almost every step you took to reach the bar. 

Harry immediately spotted you and waved you over. Men were already catcalling and whistling. 

Shaking your head and glaring at a few, you walked towards Harry. He threw an apron at you and nodded. “Let’s see how you do behind a bar lass.”

Smiling you stepped behind the bar and placed your hands on the timbre wide. “Alrighty boys, what can I get ya?” You called out to your first few customers. Every beer you poured was perfectly. You held  
your glasses at a forty-five-degree angle to get the perfect froth under the tap. Even earning yourself a few tips. It was good to be back behind the bar. You used to work at your uncle’s bar in Bondi and had experienced more than a few share of busy weekend nights. It reminded you of home.

It was all going phenomenally well until you had to collect glasses from the patrons. While placing the tray down at a table to collect a beer, a stinky, obviously intoxicated man decided to pinch your bottom.

“How much for ye, darlin’?” You could smell the alcohol from his breath.

You immediately seized his wrist by reflex and had him gasping in pain.

“Sorry?” You asked, smiling with wide teeth. Bending his wrist even more at an odd angle.

“N-Nothing.” You released his wrist and nodded. You continued to pick up the glasses while the rest of the patrons looked at you in shock. You merely gave them a smile, teeth bared, challenging them to try something.

No one. 

Good. It was better to nip things or people in the bud before it got worse. Thankfully you did not freeze as you did last night with toothless. You needed to show that you were not to be messed with. 

Harry nodded at you with a smile from the bar, shaking his head. It seemed that he was impressed with how things were going.

It was at around ten that you felt the energy of the move change. Men’s eyes directed towards the door. A lady walked through.

Grace. 

You winced as you heard the whistles, but she took in stride and did not acknowledge them.

The two of you did not talk as it was too busy to even mutter in a hello. But together, along with Harry you all managed to keep the clientele well quenched and even provided light banter.

All was good and well until it suddenly went silent. 

A pin could have dropped and every person in that room would hear it.

Ah, the Peaky Blinders. You immediately smiled and brought your head down to try and hide it. At the corner of your eye you saw three men stride in. All were impeccably dressed in their three-piece suits and signature caps with blades sewn around the edges.

“Who are they?” Grace whispered. Like she had absolutely no idea.

You almost rolled your eyes. Almost.  
“The Peaky Blinders. Give them whatever they want on the house.” Harry replied.  
Grace had already landed her eyes on what you assumed was Tommy. You were on the other side of the bar and were unable to see much. 

“What a weird name. Kinda sounds like they’re creepy perverts peeking through windows or something.” You commented. Harry immediately shushed you with wide eyes and started making knife notions at his neck.

“What? It’s true.” You shrugged your shoulders.

You turned around and of course, lo’ and behold there was a blinder standing behind you. Lovely.

Not just any blinder, but Thomas fucking Shelby in all his glory. 

“Ah fuck.” The words literally escaped you. You had just managed to shoot yourself on the foot.

The man in question had an impassive stare as he stood silently, his shoulders wide and back straight in his impeccable three-piece suit. He was taller in person than what you had anticipated, but it may  
have been just by the way he looked down at you with a cool gaze. 

Intimidating was putting it mildly.

His eyes were cold, and his face hinted nothing. 

You swallowed.

Giving a tight-lipped smile you immediately grabbed the best bottle of Irish whisky you could find and poured him a glass, leaving the bottle beside it. 

His brow raised slightly as he continued to stare at you, while grabbing the glass and placing coins on the counter.  
“Uh, excuse me. It’s on the house.” You uttered, feeling your palms go clammy as you fingered your apron.

He immediately downed his glass and took the bottle with one hand, descending his piercing eyes down towards you.

His impassive blues seemed to lock yours in a hold.

He blinked very slowly, his long lashes brushing against the roof of his hooded brow bone.

Seconds passed, and you thought you were just about to keel over when he finally broke his hypnotising stare.

A nod towards your direction, he turned away. The suit jacket did little to hide the broad, lean muscles of his shoulders and arms. His footsteps sure and seemed to pave a path effortlessly as patrons parted before him like the red sea.

The moment he turned, all breath had left your body. 

The intensity of the man could not ever be described. He did not even utter a single word but… 

Never in your entire life had you felt so breathless. 

It was one thing to watch him on screen.

But in real life, the gang leader was the epitome of a deadly, beautiful devil. 

Thomas Shelby. Thomas fucking Shelby.

He was right there, and you had just insulted albeit jokingly the name of his organisation. 

You were in deep shit.

That was perhaps one of the worst first impressions you could have given to a dangerous, calculating man.

Harry shook his head and sighed in relief. “Lassie, you do not want to be on their bad side. Especially with Thomas Shelby.” 

“Why?” Silly question really.

“Because we’re the Peaking fuck Blinders darl’. We run this town.” Came the familiar drawl of Arthur Shelby. He winked at you. “A glass of whisky love.” You nodded and immediately poured him a glass, made it a triple shot. You nodded as he drowned it all in one go. “What’s ya name lass?”

“[Your Name].”

“Well [Your Name], I think we’re gonna get along just fine.” He gave you one more wink before pushing his way though other terrified patrons. 

“So, the Peaky Blinders?” You muttered, pouring another customer a beer. Shaking your head, you could not imagine that this just happened.

It was towards two in the morning that everyone had started to leave. Grace had already left at one, while you stayed back with Harry to help finish cleaning and updating his books from tonight.  
You still had not had the chance to talk to the blonde spy. It was a lot busier than any weekend night back in Sydney at a bar and the two of you merely shared smiles, rolling your eyes together at some patrons.

You had just finished writing up the sums and totalled everything up while Harry was changing the barrels down in the cellar. 

Done and not sure what to do with yourself, you decided to give all tables a final wipe down and to sweep the floor.  
Humming a few songs to yourself you got out the rag and began wiping everything. The tables were practically drenched in alcohol and smoke suds were everywhere. Sighing, you eventually began to sing songs softly to yourself as swept the floor, swaying with the imaginary music in your mind.

‘Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river  
You can hear the boats go by  
You can spend the night beside her  
And you know that she's half-crazy  
But that's why you want to be there  
And she feeds you tea and oranges  
That come all the way from China  
And just when you mean to tell her  
That you have no love to give her  
Then she gets you on her wavelength  
And she lets the river answer  
That you've always been her lover

And you want to travel with her  
And you want to travel blind  
And you know that she will trust you  
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.’

The sound of clapping alerted your ears and you froze while sweeping. You turned around, only to once more gaze into the stoic, handsome face of Thomas Shelby.  
His eyes met yours as he silently gazed at you, bringing a cigarette to his lips. Lighting a matchstick to his cigarette, he took a deep puff and blew. He looked the very part of a prowling predator, movements made leisurely yet with an undertone of danger. His eyes, still refusing to let yours go.

“Bravo.” He finally broke the silence. The first word he had ever uttered towards you, huskily between breathing in the cigarette held between his long fingers. His deep voice warmed you unexpectedly, sending violent fluttering of butterflies in your stomach.

You felt your cheeks redden as you bit your lips out of nervous habit. 

“…thank you.” You uttered shyly, diverting your eyes finally away to the floor.

“What is your name?” His deep voice and Brummie accent combined was something akin to a thundering storm that was both powerful and commanding. It beckoned you to answer. 

“[Your Name].” You lifted your eyes once more, only to see that his had never left your face.

“What’s your business in Birmingham, [Your Name]?” He asked, taking in another breath of smoke.

“Trying to make a living.” You answered honestly.

“And Grace?” 

You immediately tensed, unconsciously so. His eyes had picked up the movement watching as you struggled to form words.

“To be honest, I have no idea. We hardly had the chance to talk tonight because of how busy it was.” He nodded, seeming to accept your answer. Of course, he would be interested in her, she was going to  
become his wife. The mother of his child. Those two had their plots written out and intertwined but they did not know it. Only you did. But what would you do with that knowledge?

With that he nodded towards you and exited out the doors.

You had not even managed to say ‘thank you’ or ‘goodnight’ by the time he left. He was as mysterious and unpredictable as he was depicted on screen. If not more so in real life.

“[Your Name] did you-Wait you finished everything and calculated everything already?” Harry asked incredulously.

You grinned at him, saluting him, “Aye Captain.”

“Blimey, you have just saved me hours tomorrow. See you back tomorrow at the same time.”

You were hired!

“Thank you Harry! See you tomorrow.” With that you headed off to ‘home’. Which was the church. 

Of course, once more when you got to the giant oak doors it was locked. Groaning, you honestly did not have the energy to become Spiderman and start climbing. This time there was no light inside the church, making it even more difficult to gage where there may be a possible opening. However, it seemed that the window from last night was still open.

This time it wasn’t raining, and you had managed to climb through it easily enough. Yawning, you walked towards the alter and to the corridor with the toilet and basin.

Seeing as there was no shower, you quickly ran to one of the rooms and grabbed a cloth to use as a sponge and another robe from what appeared to be an endless supply. Using the basin, you gave yourself a sponge bath, shuddering at the cold water and immediately wrapped yourself up in the robe when done. Once more you walked to the last room and took more eucharists for food during the day tomorrow. It seemed that the church honestly had an endless supply and would never notice if you took a few packets each day.

Yawning, you made your way to your sleeping spot behind the organ and snuggled in. Well as much as you could without a mattress and pillow on a wooden floor. At least it wasn’t stone, otherwise you would have been freezing.

Closing your eyelids, all you could see were pale blue eyes. 

BOOOOM.

“Fuck!”

Immediately you jolted, hitting your head against the organ. Hopefully it was just a door…

“No. Nope. No such things as ghosts.” You whispered to yourself.


	2. Giggling Cherubs

There is nothing more efficient for a wakeup call than whacking your head against an organ. One that was playing a jolly ol' tune as your personal wake up call.

"Peace be with you." The priest's nasal voice echoed through the church.

Rubbing at the throbbing egg on your head you muttered," Yeah peace be with friggen you too buddy."

Bloody instrument.

By the time it came to your shift, you walked in the musky pub with paper bags filled with your necessities and other...goodies. Like the fresh cinnamon scroll and hot loaf of bread. It was still warm in your hand when you placed the bags behind the bar.

"[Your Name], was it? I'm Grace, by the way." A soft, Irish voice alerted you.

Grace.

Her blonde hair was combed perfectly to the side, a bright smile painted her pink lips as she held out a delicate hand.

Grabbing it in a shake, a chuckle escaped you," Yeah, we barely got the chance to catch a breath last night. Pleasure to properly meet you, Grace"

Within seconds, the three of you were busy cleaning and pouring drinks.

The moment the clock stuck four, hoards of men came barrelling demanding drinks left and right.

"What do you think of having some singing in here?" Grace voiced, placing a tray of empty glasses down. Her hands cupping her waist as she batted her eyelashes sweetly at Harry.

"It's not something we do here." Harry mumbled, grunting as he shifted an empty barrel to the back.

"Well we should. I'll give it a go."

In a matter of seconds, you found her atop of a table singing an old, apparently well-known song to the patrons.

All the men joined, singing out their hearts. With reddened faces, some had their arms linked around each other's shoulders and were swaying to the lyrics.

You had to hand it to Grace, the lady knew how to sing and get men in good spirits. It even made serving a lot easier and you were not tempted to break any wondering hands.

However, the men abruptly stopped singing all of a sudden.

Tension rose through the pub as three men strode in.

The blades in their caps glimmered as men around them gulped and held their breaths.

Grace, the charming yet suicidal lady continued singing.

Her clear, soprano voice rang sweetly as the hidden blue eyes of Thomas Shelby landed on her.

Their eyes connected.

She stared at him as she hit a high note, holding her dress as she gently closed her eyes.

As though she were seranading him, and him alone. No one else seemed to exist.

You inhaled deeply, feeling something drop in your stomach.

The warm smile you had on your face seemed to disintegrate into nothing but a thin line.

Your hands found the cool touch of glass, picking up a rag to polish glasses in a haste.

She stared at him intently, batting her eyelashes oh so innocently.

It hurt. Like someone had a needle and was picking away at the beating organ in your chest with it. Slowly, yet painfully torturing you.

Swallowing, you tore your eyes away.

Murmurs began to slowly break the silence in the room and within seconds, the pub was back to its indistinct cacophony of loud chatter.

Arthur strode to the bar, his moustache framing his wide smile.

Chuckling, you got a shot glass ready and had it filled just as he slapped his hand on the bar.

Arthur raised his glass," Cheers."

"Cheers big ears." You returned, winking.

Arthur immediately began spluttering after downing his whisky. His face red and tears began to form in his eyes as he choked into laughter.

"Where'd ya come up with that one?" He sputtered, wiping a tear from his eye. He must've been already drunk.

"Aussie slang, that's what we usually say before making a toast." Arthur nodded, still chuckling as he staggered away.

"Cheers, fucking big ears." You heard him mutter before dissolving into another chuckle.

At the corner of your eye, you saw the Grace hand Tommy a bottle of whisky. Irish of course.

Pursing your lips, you forced your eyes away and began to scrub glasses.

Rather firmly.

Too firmly, because it cracked and broke in your hands

"Ah fuck me!" You muttered heatedly, hands carefully grasping the glass shards and dropping them into a wooden bucket.

"Harry do you have any clean cloths somewhere?" You asked, seeing droplets of blood seeping heavier over your palms,

"In the cupboard on the other side of the room," called Harry from the other side of the bar.

"Excuse me folks," you muttered past by patrons, stepping left and right through sweaty bodies.

It was all fine and dandy until one of the inebriated customers decided to pinch your bottom.

Feeling your blood reach boiling point, you immediately swung an elbow at the dirty pervert's jaw, who immediately fell back like a sack of potatoes.

"What in the flying fuck is going on here!" Arthur bellowed out sauntering over to the passed-out man.

You were already at the bar, rinsing your hand under water, completely oblivious to the rest of the activity in the bar.

Your mind began questioning how exactly clean was pipe water in the 1920's. Because disease and infection could screw you over royally.

Arthur immediately began howling in laughter when he saw the passed-out man.

"Oi, Tommy, John. Get a look at this!" He cackled.

"Someone pummelled him good." John whistled appreciatively while Tommy's eyes scanned the scene. There was blood on the man.

"Who's the fella who did this? We need him on the bloody blinders! Heck, I should spar him!" Arthur gazed at the patrons excitedly, waiting for any indication.

Immediately fingers pointed at your cursing form.

"Ow! You son-of-a yanky-doodling-donkey," you spat out while pouring water over your gaping wound.

Arthur blinked.

Slowly his shoulders began to shake before he erupted into laughter.

John began chuckling as well, hardly believing what he was seeing and hearing.

Tommy stood still, impassive as always. His eyes were hidden under his cap as his eyes zoomed onto your cussing form.

"She's a pretty one, that new bar maid," John smirked.

"A little feisty..."

"...." John turned to his side, only to see Tommy take off his cap and light a cigarette.

His eyes were firmly on you as his lips took a deep drag, slowly exhaling white smoke.

"Oi! Save some of the girls for us, will ya?" John snorted, rolling his toothpick between his lips.

Tommy slowly turned his head, giving a cold, unblinking look to his younger brother.

Taking another drag, he turned away and stepped forward towards the bar.

"[Your Name]." He uttered, seeing your form jump away from the sink.

You immediately turned around, holding a cloth to your bloodied hand.

"Ah fuck." It just came out.

Swallowing, your eyes darted around the pub as it finally landed on Thomas Shelby.

His face was unreadable, lips pursed around a cigarette as his eyes followed along your clutched hand.

His blue eyes lifted to meet yours, setting butterflies aflame within your stomach as he stared at you impassively.

"Follow me." A direct command that left no room for you to protest.

Wordlessly, you followed the man. His cigarette smoke lingered behind him and swirled at your face before dissipating.

Immediately when you entered the side room, he closed the doors behind him and gestured his hand at the chairs to sit. The room was darker, with fading oil lamps.

Sticking another cigarette to his lips, he lit it up and took a drag. The harsh crackle of the matchstick made you flinch as you sat down, tentatively clutching your burning hand. His intense blue eyes never leaving you as he swiftly waved the burning match, snubbing its fire.

"Let me see." His deep voice with a heavy Brummie lilt demanded, albeit softly.

You froze, looking up at the approaching man. Slowly you peeled off the cloth.

"Stop." He ordered, making you pause.

He took a seat and placed it right in front of you. Taking your hand ever so gently he sat down and began to unroll the bloody cloth.

His fingers brushed against your bare skin at times, sending bouts of strong electric currents through you.

He felt warm.

Almost familiar to your skin. And you ached for more.

This was bloody dangerous.

"Stiches." He stated, snapping you out of your wondering thoughts. His eyes were locked on the deep cut in your palm. His cigarette held by the sides of his full, luscious lips. They almost reminded you of the lips of the cherubs that decorated the church. Ironic that you were comparing to what could be the devil himself to the likes of an innocent cherub.

You nodded," I haven't had the chance to ask if Harry had a needle and string."

His eyes left your hand to meet yours in a gaze. The eyes of a killer. A predator.

This man made the Godfather look like a little school boy.

You were trapped by his beauty and the danger he possessed.

"Wait here," he gently released your hand and walked out of the room. A sigh escaped your lips, drearily lifting your left hand to your eyes.

Why were you here?

Moments later, Tommy returned with what appeared to be gin, a needle and thread.

"Thank you," you whispered as he placed everything on the table beside you, snubbing his cigarette in an ash-tray.

You immediately lifted your hand to grab the bottle and fresh cloth, only to be commanded," Stop."

It was sharp and to the point. The man was of little words, but that's what made him so intimidating when he spoke.

You paused, pursing your lips as you dragged your head up to look into his eyes. The dimness of the lamp painted dark shadows along his face.

His sharp jaw line appeared even more pronounced.

It was as though somewhat drew a line in between his face and painted an eerie contrast of light on the left of his face and dark on the right.

His blues eyes seemed to gleam through obscure shading the shadows made on this face.

Taking the cold bottle of gin from your fingers, he poured it over a white piece of cloth.

"It's ok, I'm a nurse I can do it." You whispered, moving to take the cloth from his hand.

He merely moved it away and pinned you with his impenetrable look," Perhaps, but nurses need both hands." He gestured to not only to your right hand but your left. You hadn't realised that you cut the left one so badly.

"But-"

He gently took your left hand and looked at you in the eyes.

"Take a deep breath," he warned as he placed the cloth over your hand.

The burning stung so bad that you had practically bit your lips to the point of bleeding to keep from crying out. A tear even managed to escape your clenched eyes.

You felt a gentle thumb wipe them away. You opened your eyes to once more only become entranced with his.

His thumb continued to gently stroke your cheek, almost tenderly as you hung on for the last seconds of pain.

Finally, he took the cloth off and removed his other hand from your face.

He picked up the needle and poured gin over it. He even managed to thread string through the needle with a practised precision.

"You've done this before..."You uttered. You did not recall a time while watching the series of Thomas stitching.

"Yes. In the war."

His eyes met yours once more, as he took your right hand and placed it on the table. He moved the oil lamp closer to the hand to see better.

"Breathe," he whispered, before piercing your skin.

It was hard enough as it is when you were merely in his presence to breathe.

He took precise movements, almost rhythmically piecing your flesh and gently pulling the thread.

Sucking a deep breath, you moved your head away. If you looked at him doing the process, it hurt more. Trying to distract yourself from the pain you asked," Did you hear everything I said while I was turned around?"

Tommy paused in between a stich, a slight twitch on his lips. If only you turned around to see it.

"Yes." He continued as you grit your teeth.

"Fuck." You let out, then immediately uttered," Sorry."

"Who are you [Your Name]."

His deep voice uttered, carefully pulling the string to merge your skin together. It was not a question, but more of a 'polite' demand.

"I'm me. " You grit out. Pausing, knowing most likely he wanted more.

"A swearing school teacher, nurse or whatever you want to call me."

"Mother-fu-" You managed to stop yourself just in time.

"Why are you really here." Once more not a question.

You groaned, he really was a stubborn man. Was he really interrogating you now of all times?

Of course, he is Thomas Shelby. He never does anything without some purpose behind it.

"I don't know. To make a living, like every other, Ow, fucking person." His eyes lifted momentarily to yours, impassive but with a warning gleam.

"Where are you staying at?" You winced as the thread burned when pulled together.

"Nearby." His eyes snapped at your face immediately.

"Meaning?"

"Ow near fucking by, like a five-minute walk."

You heard him release an exhale as he finally finished stitching you.

"Where [Your Name]?" He asked once more, bringing his hand gently to move your face to look at him.

His eyes once more locking yours in a strange hypnosis. He knew the power he had behind those baby blues.

You knew it as well only that did nothing to stop the gentle flutter within your stomach.

"I'd rather not say that to a stranger?" You begged, praying that he wouldn't press you.

But no. You had forgotten that this was Thomas Shelby. Leader of the Peaky Blinders. The gang leader always gets what he wants, when he wants. Ruthless in his demands.

"I thought we were passed the point of being strangers." He washed his hands with gin and cloth, eyes still intently on you.

"Why do you need to know?" You challenged. There was no way you were telling Thomas Shelby that you lived behind an organ in a church. Handsome, terrifying gang-leader be damned.

His once inquisitive eyes hardened at the challenge.

"I am not a man used to being denied [Your Name]..."

Oh, you knew that.

His eyes seemed to darken as he took out a cigarette, running it briefly over his lips before the snap of a matchstick lit it.

Precise. Dangerous. Seductive.

He took a long inhale, his lashes blinked ever so slowly at you.

His exhale seemed to blow smoke straight past you.

Eyes darting and feeling your cheeks redden, you bit your lip.

You were so fucked. The man knew exactly what he was doing.

You needed to do something. Anything.

Swallowing

Without warning you brought out your bandaged hands and cupped his cheeks, pressing your lips against him.

Gods. He was warm, and it felt as though satin had encased your lips.

He tasted of a decadent balance of whisky, cigarettes and something uniquely him. Addictive.

Before he could react, his own hand lifting to brush your cheek, you immediately threw yourself back. Eyes wide you looked at him for an eye blink before bolting out of the room and out of the Garrisons as though hell itself were chasing at your heels.

It may as well have been.

You challenged Thomas Shelby.

You caught him off guard.

You kissed Thomas Shelby.

It was that or attempt to knock out a feared gang leader.

The chances of the happening were slim to none, he was a fearsome war veteran.

Sure, you may have studied martial arts, but it helped you out against your daily idiot. This man was no idiot.

You began to sprint your hardest, hoping that no one would come after you. Within minutes you found yourself desperately scrambling up the window in the church. Almost in tears at how much it hurt to climb with your cut hands.

But you made it.

Once more almost breaking a bone as you toppled two metres down inside the church on the cold marble ground.

You laid on your back for minutes, trying to calm your breathing and your poor overactive heart.

You kissed him.

The giggling cherubs above you seemed to give you a thumbs up through the flickering candle light.

...The worst thing is, you wanted more.

More of his lips.

To be wrapped up in his scent.

To curl your fingers into his hair, while you traced his plump lips.

He had you long before you even knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My darling readers, thank you for reading thus far! Please leave a comment, I'd love to hear what you all think!


	3. Aching Limbs

"Why? Why am I here?" You asked for the umpteenth time since you woke up sopping wet on the freezing concrete in Birmingham. It was evident that you were not in a dream.

You were stuck here and no idea how you got here or how to get out.

You had nowhere or no one to run to. Just your good ol' makeshift bed behind a loud organ.

There was also your evening shift at the Garrisons tonight. That was IF you were still hired.

All the groceries and toiletries you bought yesterday were still at the pub. Forgotten in all of last night's chaos.

Honestly, it was as though you had dynamite shoved up your arse with the way you bolted away from Thomas Shelby last night.

Your poor aching legs protested with every movement.

"Fuck." You swore under your breath.

The white bandages Tommy wrapped around your hands now had an angry red hue, possibly from your frantic climbing through the church window.

A trip to the pharmacy was the priority today.

That meant you had to step out onto the streets, where you could run into the Blinders at any corner and moment.

It could possibly mean instantaneous death for all you knew.

Swallowing, you pushed the giant oaken doors and stepped out.

The musty, wet smell of rain and cool wind swept through you. It was grey and bloody miserable.

"Fuck." You uttered under your breath, your hamstrings mocking you with every step on the dark cobbled ground.

Your breaths came out as white mist as you trudged down the street, eyes straining to find the words 'pharmacy' or 'apothecary' on shop signs through the rain.

 

Thankfully something was opened, and you bought yourself fresh bandages and rub-in alcohol, beginning to make your way to the Garrsions to see if you still had a job.

 

Walking in, Harry immediately smiled in relief seeing you.

"Lassie! Are you ok? Tommy told me you cut your hands!"

Taking in a sharp breath at hearing is name, you nodded with a slight smile," Yes, I am fine! Am I still hired?"

Harry looked at you incredulously," Of course! Now why you would be asking such a question?"

Harry looked at you and shook his head, chucking an apron at you.

"Are you still able to work with your hands?"

You gave him a bright grin, tying the apron behind you. "Of course. It's honestly not that bad."

"It will be just us two for the evenin'. Grace will be away." You nodded, immediately began wiping tables and pushing the chairs in.

It was oddly a soothing afternoon.

The doors of the entrance swung open abruptly, nearly giving you a heart attack. Only instead of seeing your typical adult, male clients: you saw a little boy.

He couldn't have been more than ten and his clothes stuck to him from the rain.

His body visibly shivering and swaying.

You immediately put the glass you were polishing down and made a beeline for the boy.

"Sweet heart, come take a seat. What happened?" You pointed towards the nearest chair and gently brought it towards him.

"I-I'm ok. I just need Tommy. Or Arthur." He uttered, his eyes drooping. He looked as though he were about to collapse. "They're not here. Please take a seat."

"But-"

You moved the chair right in front of him and gestured towards it with a firm stare. The boy sluggishly sat on the stool, his face white and damp.

"It's ok sweety, my name's [Your Name] and I'm a nurse." You uttered as you began to place a hand against his forehead.

"What's your name?" You asked brightly, trying to hide the building concern you had for the boy. His forehead felt like a furnace against your hand. The poor thing had a fever.

"Finn Shelby." He whispered as leaned into your hand.

"Harry, could you please ring the Shelby's?" His nose was also runny.

"What, why?"

"Just do it. Finn needs a doctor, a vaccine more likely since it looks like he has the flu."

Harry immediately begin to ring all the members. Of course, no one would answer. Instead he rang the doctor.

It took at least an hour for the slow idiot to come. Finn was laid down with his head in your lap while you were both settled on the couch in the backroom.

He was in a delirious state. Your fingers gently combed back his damp hair, occasionally placing a rag in a jug of water to wring it and put it back on the boy's head.

You already had Harry run to the apothecary. All they had was peppermint oil. No paracetamol. No aspirin of ibuprofen. No antiviral medication.

The doctor came in with a massive leather bag and looked at Finn with cautiously.

"He has the flu." You spoke, nodding your head at the doctor in greeting. The doctor immediately stepped back.

"Just chamomile tea. That's all we can do for him." He shook his head, turning to walk out of the pub.

Your eyes narrowed.

"No. You are going to do something," you paused, voice deepening.

"You are going to give him the flu vaccine."

"Young lady are you the doctor?" he asked snidely, glaring at you with a reddened face.

"I'm a certified nurse. Give him the vaccine for goodness sakes!" You looked at him incredulously. The idiocy of this man.

From what you remember, there was the Spanish influenza epidemic just after the first world war. According to one tutorial class in university that you actually payed attention in, the flu ended up killing more American troops than battle itself.

Thankfully, they had developed a vaccine at the end. You just didn't know why this ass was not giving Finn the vaccine.

"He will be fine..."

"Finn!" Polly called as she strode quickly inside the room. Her eyes and eyebrows furrowed with worry as she saw the delirious boy in your arms.

"Give. Him. The. Vaccine."

You growled, glaring menacingly at the man. A sudden click was heard within the room.

"Listen to the lady there," Polly pressed a pistol behind the doctor's spine. The doctor turned white as a freshly bleached cloth. "P-polly. Didn't realise it was y-you."

"NOW!" You shouted at the doctor.

Polly in turn pressed the gun painfully against one of his vertebrae.

"C-Certainly."

Within the next hour, both you and Polly carried Finn to her home. The dimwit finally injected him and the two of you tucked him in.

"We owe you for this," Polly uttered as she watched you smooth Finn's hair back. You sighed and shook your head.

"No, you don't." You looked up at her from your seated position at the side of his bed.

"I just don't want anyone catching this, lest it spread like wildfire again. I think it's better that I attend to him. I've already gotten it before, so I have some sort of immunity but as for everyone else....Don't let them in the room until it passes."

Polly pursed her lips together tightly, nodding.

"He should be ok within a week and a half. The main thing is that he hasn't gotten pneumonia. Just keep him in bed and make sure he drinks plenty of fluids. Just in case that idiot doctor didn't tell you."

You sighed, shaking your head as you looked up to the wooden ceiling.

"If you need anything, you'll find me most of the time at the pub working."

You stood up and gave her a smile.

"He'll be alright. I promise! Is it ok that I come by tonight to check on him?"

Polly nodded gratefully. "Absolutely."

"I'll go back to my shift, I will see you later."

"Thank you." Was all she said as she led you out.

She closed the door behind and leant her back against it, her eyes flickering closed. A tear trailed down her cheek.

 

"Where the fuck are those boys?" She uttered, rubbing her forehead.

 

It must have been at eight in the evening when Polly heard the knock,

She opened the door only to see you with bags in your hand.

"How is he?" You asked, voice muffled behind the brown paper bags as you trudged into the dimly lit kitchen.

Polly let out a sigh," He is still asleep."

"Good. Means his body is fighting it off. I brought some things that should quicken his recovery along." You placed the bags on the timbre table.

"Some elder berries." You uttered as brought out at least a kilo to show. They looked similar to blue berries in shape and size but had a darker, purple tint.

"We will need to cook them, in their raw form their toxic. But it will help his immune system and clear everything in the chest and throat."

Polly immediately went about setting the stove up, bringing out a large pot while you went to the sink to rinse the fruit.

It took at least three hours to prepare the damned juice concoction. If only you had electric stove tops.

"It tastes like shit." Blunt and straight to the point, she uttered, placing the spoon in the sink.

"That's how you know it's real medicine." You chuckled.

Within the three hours that the two of you laboured over the juice, you could say that you were in the good books of the fearsome matriarch.

That in itself was a feat. You knew she was wary of strangers.

Both Polly and yourself sat at the kitchen table exhausted. She had a cigarette in between her fingers as she took a bottle and poured two drinks.

"Whisky," was all she said, sliding the glass to you. Nodding in thanks, the two of you clanged your glasses together and swung the drink into your throats.

You spluttered, face reddening as you knocked your fist against your chest. Polly chuckled," Not much of a drinker?"

You shook your head, tears forming in your eyes as you heaved," Only just started."

She took a drag out of her cigarette," Birmingham will do that to you."

"Why are you here of all places?" You sighed at the question. You could tell that her and Tommy were related.

"Honestly, I don't know. I guess I have been drifting about to try a find a job either as a teacher or a nurse. There was no point in going back to Australia.

"...Call it the curse of being born a girl that people don't want to hire you."

Polly nodded, pouring another shot of drinks.

"Why can't you go back?"

"Nothing there. Ma passed away from influenza after she found the news that Pa and my brothers perished in Gallipoli. It was just a month later after she received the letter. Heart attack."

It's true, no one was alive. Yet. But Gallipoli was a sidenote and an ode to thirteen years of schooling in the limited 200 years of history of Australia.

You swung back the shot, feeling the alcohol starting to fuzz your senses. This time, thankfully you didn't choke on the whisky.

"Now, I won't ever see them again," you whispered, feeling tears pooling at the edge of your eyes. It was the truth. You had no idea if you would ever return to your time to see your family.

"So, there is no point. There is nothing there for me."

Polly placed a hand on top of your knuckles.

"Funny thing for you Polly, I heard you are gypsy, right?" You inquired with a watery smile.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she nodded slowly, almost stiffly.

"Ma' always said that we had some sort of gypsy heritage. She always used to say that it was hard to keep me in one place. It was that blood showing through."

Her eyes widened slightly and crinkled, a relieved smile pinched her maroon coloured lips," Of what kind?"

"Romani. My grandmother was Romani, from the Balkans. That's all she told me. She taught me a few words and some songs."

Was it the alcohol that loosened your tongue? You didn't know. It just felt good to talk to someone properly. To talk about your mama. Your family. Something that was not a lie.

'Sa me amala oro kelena' You sang softly while your eyes looked up to the wooden ceiling. Polly had even joined you, her eyes closed as she sung between breathing some of the cigarette. A smile quirked at the edge of her lips as her head leaned back singing louder for the chorus.

  
_Sa o Roma babo_  
_Sa o Roma o daje_  
_Sa o Roma babo Ederlezi, Ederlezi_  
_Sa o Roma daje'_

"...I hadn't heard or sung that in years." Polly uttered, shaking her head.

"My own ma' and baba sang it to me." She poured another drink for the two of you.

The two of you clanged glasses and downed it.

"...I had two children. One girl, Anna. One boy, Michael. I used to sing it to them when they were babes." She poured another shot for the two of you, her own eyes pooling with tears.

"They took them away from me. The parish. Took my Anna, she was only three and Michael five. Well two weeks from being six." She downed another shot.

Only this time, you placed your own hand on her knuckles. Your own eyes tearing for her.

"Those bastards," you uttered. You knew the story well enough. She swung back another glass.

"I don't know if they are alive. Are they healthy? Are they on the streets or buried six feet under in some ditch!" She spat like a hissing snake, tears still streaming down her face.

"I keep dreaming of them almost every night." She shook her head, curling her fists.

She took another shot and closed her eyes, one tear drop trickled down her cheek.

You wish you could tell her. You could. But bloody hell you've watched and read enough stories on time-travel. History and future could change. Who knows what you could fuck up.

As much as you wanted to help the grieving, strong matriarch.

You could feel her pain resonate and pierce into you. It was haunting.

You stood up from the chair and embraced her. Her shoulders shook violently. Her hand gripped your arm in a death grip.

Her grip eventually slackened, and her weight leaned fully into you.

"Polly?" You asked. No response.

"Polly?" You gently shook at her. She passed out. She must've down an easy five shots in two minutes.

Sighing, you swung her arm around your shoulder and began to drag her to her room upstairs.

"...Tommy's." She whispered as you stood outside the first door. Swallowing, you nodded as the two of you staggered further down the corridor to the last room.

You knew it was her room by the lipsticks balanced by the vanity mirror. Dresses folded on a nearby chair. As well as two pictures.

One of a baby. It was black and white, the edges slowly fading. The other of a boy that looked no more than four holding a wooden car with a wide grin, his two front teeth missing. Closing your eyes, you gently guided the woman to her bed.

Her back sprawled against the bed as you took her boots off. Fluffing her pillow, your fingers touched some article of clothing.

She was already fast asleep, mouth slightly opened.

Taking them out from underneath her head, it was two tiny pieces of clothing.

It must be their clothes. You heard of mothers who lost their children. Keeping and smelling their clothes or blankets in their grief.

Swallowing, you felt tears in your eyes. She loved her children more than anything.

God, you wanted to help her.

Maybe you could hurry the process somehow? Leave an anonymous tip?

But knowing Tommy at least by watching him on Netflix, was that he would find out one way or another.

You would not be able to explain anything.

"...I'm so sorry Polly," you whispered as your finger grazed of the smooth edge of the photographs.

"You will meet Michael. I know it. I promise." With that, you left to get her a glass of water. Her head would more than likely explode when she wakes up in the morning. Leaving the glass on her bedside, you turned off the lamp and walked into corridor.

Once more, you stood outside the first door of the corridor. His room. Curiosity was burning inside you with feverous ache. All you had to do was turn the knob.

Swallowing, you entered. Turning on his lamp which was a simple light globe by his bedside you sat at the end of the bed.

It was springy, bouncing slightly under your weight.

It was his. Tommy's.

A clean room. The walls adorned with a simple dark green striped wall paper. A globe for a lamp on his wooden bedside table. His metal bed with grey sheets folded with military precision and a flannel blanket folded over the bottom half of his bed.

It smelt like him.

Cigarettes. A certain musk that was just him.

It was calming. Almost familiar.

His suits hung by the corner. A pack of cigarettes on the bedside table and peeking out from the draw was a pipe. At least, what you assumed to be an opium pipe.

Sighing, you almost forgot. He experienced night terrors. Post-traumatic stress.

"...Tommy," you whispered. Gods, what were you doing?

Curious or not, you should not be snooping his room.

Swallowing, you gently caressed his bed just for a moment longer. He could come any moment.

 

Forcing yourself to stand to walked out, closing the door behind you and walked over to Finn's room.

 

It was morning when Polly woke groggy, hardly remembering what happened the previous evening.

She remembered that the two of you sang Romani songs. She mentioned Anna and Michael...

But that was all. She felt as though she was missing something. Finn.

"Finn!" She gasped as she abruptly stood from her bed. The head was pulsating, but she bolted for his room.

Opening the door, she sighed in relief.

There were you, the girl she poured her deepest secret seated on the chair next to Finn.

Your hand was clasping his while your head laid sprawled onto your arm leaning onto the bed from the seat.

"Pol'?" Tommy's voice echoed down the hall. His strong footsteps headed her way as he stopped and stared at the scene.

"What happened?" He gestured to your sleeping form and Finn.

Polly placed her index finger to her lips and led him out.

"Finn got the influenza. If it wasn't for her, we would be burying him tomorrow Tom. She saved him." Tommy slowly inhaled closing his eyes and nodded before walking away for what seemed to be another errand.

"She's a good girl Tommy." Polly spoke as she blocked his exit.

"Move." It was a clear, cut command. Polly did not budge.

"She saved your brother Tommy. You treat her right, you hear me?"

Tommy stared at her blankly.

"Polly." He ordered once more before Polly stepped away. Something was amiss. She could not pinpoint what, but she felt in her bones that something big was going to happen for him.

Love perhaps?

 

She smirked as she closed the door behind him. When it came to matters of the heart, Polly Gray was never wrong.

 

Stretching your neck, you awoke to a curious pair of brown eyes.

"G'morning miss," he uttered in a voice a smidge too raspy for a young child.

You gave him a soft smile, stretching and hearing your neck pop.

"Ugh," you breathed as you moved your neck side to side.

Putting a hand against his damp forehead, he felt a little warm.

"How are you feeling Finn?" You asked, combing his hair back with your fingers.

"A little better, can I go outside now?" His raspy voice rose in pitch with hope.

It made your smile wane slightly and your eyes looked at him sympathetically.

"Not for the next few days chick-a-dee. You need some rest so that body of yours fights off the gunk." You wagged an index finger at him playfully.

"I'll see if we can get you some breakfast." Standing up, you chuckled as he complained," But I'm bored!"

As your steps clacked against the timbre, your eyes met Polly's cooking form. The lady normally avoided cooking if she had to. Yet here she was, with crisp white apron tied at the back of waist with a wooden spoon in hand slaving over the stove.

"Morning Polly, how's the head." you greeted warmly.

She turned around with a huff," Absolutely fabulous."

Her bleary eyes and dark circles told you that a drum was beating away inside her cranium.

"I haven't gotten that plastered in years. How you managed to get me to bed is a miracle. Thank you [Your Name]."

"Don't mention it Pol'." You grinned as she rubbed at her forehead.

"About last night-"

"Will go to the grave with me." You promised. The lady honestly did not need to say more.

Her eyes warmed as she lifted her lips into a smile.

"I don't give trust easily, [Your Name]."

You chuckled," I gathered. The boys must've been terrified of you, especially when holding a wooden spoon."

She rolled her eyes with a smirk," They were. But Tommy used to hide them. Would never tell me where, the little devil."

You could not help but laugh, trying to imagine a little Tommy getting into mischief. With those baby blues of his, he could've gotten away with everything.

"He had the brains back then even," Polly muttered wistfully.

"But break that trust, I will never forgive. Never forget." Her voice changed to deeper tone.

You nodded and lifted a bandaged palm up. "Likewise, Polly. For me it's like pulling out teeth to say anything."

She smiled again, nodding before moving to face the stove.

"But I better be off, I start at the pub at eleven."

"No, you have an hour. Have some breakfast first. I will not take no for an answer young lady."

"...That seems to run in the family."

"What?"

"Nothing, I'll bring a tray up to Finn first."

 

When you arrived at the pub, you noticed that it was peculiarly quiet. Your eyes scanned the place for anything amiss, only to spot nothing.

"Harry, what's going on?" You asked, tying your apron behind you.

"Nothing." Harry answered, his face furrowed in a frown as gazed at piles of papers and receipts in front of him.

"Where's Grace?"

"She should be arriving any moment. Today she will be singing, Mr Shelby let off the ban."

Ah right.

The door opened to reveal the blonde lady. Speak of the devil and she shall appear. Though to be fair, you never really spoke to her. Most of the time, the two of you were running around like headless chooks serving.

But today, you noticed an extra spring in her step. A certain spark in her smile. Reminding you of the cat who got the canary. Ah yes, their relationship must have progressed the next level last night. Was it before or after your 'meeting' with Mr Shelby?

Your mood immediately plummeted. Oh, you wanted nothing more than to sock a punch into his nose.

"[Your Name]! How are you?" She asked cheerly, almost singing as she tied her apron.

"Good. But I'm frightened by how quiet it is here. And you Grace? You seem to be glowing." You gestured at her with your newly bandaged hands.

Polly insisted wrapping them up anew after feeding you a feast. It was heavenly having a hot, home cooked meal.

Ah yes, the glowing angel meet the bandaged mummy. She simply smiled wider. "I'm feeling wonderful," she answered with her Irish accent ringing merrily

"Harry, has Tommy arrived yet?" She was even on first name basis with him.

Ah fuck.

You hoped today was not going to be another 'interrogation'.

You were not sure if you had the nerve to look at him in the eyes after kissing him two nights before.

You'd only been dreaming of the feeling of his lips on yours through most seconds of the day.

Instead, it was more likely to be a day to watch Mr. Shelby and Miss Angel make goo-goo eyes at each other.

Was that a good thing?

Your mood sunk.

"No, not yet."

Cue the door opening. In comes Arthur, John and of course your most favourite person in the world.

The brothers walked over, you nodded your head at John with a smile. Completely refusing to acknowledge Thomas. He was most likely eyeing Grace anyway.

Had you been looking, you would have noticed his normal stoic face furrow slightly. His eyes were indeed on you, noticing the bags under your eyes. The tautness of your cheeks. Sighing, he took the glass searching for your eyes.

"Cheers big ears!" Hollered Arthur, and all three brothers downed their drink.

You brought out the rest of the bottle and left it on the bar. "Knock yourselves out, gents."

"Why thank you, pretty lady!" Arthur battered his eyelashes at you before taking the bottle and walked off. Not before taking a big swig. John rolled his eyes," Well, see you later. In case I don't, Sunday. Polly told me to invite you to the Sunday lunch"

"Oh, I won't be able to. Harry and Grace will be gone, so I will be the only one managing it."

"Finn will be disappointed. He's only been driving me mad with the bloody bang-bang game. To be fair, my own tables have been getting better. Wish we had you as our teacher, may have attended more often." He winked and raised his glass towards you.

"But come next week." He called behind his back as he followed Arthur.

Shaking your head with a laugh, you mistakenly raised your eyes only to meet pale blue.

His eyes were intent on yours. Swallowing you quickly shifted them to the side and turned your back, attempting to look busy by shifting the perfectly placed bottles around.

"Tommy!" Grace called, saving you.

"I'll be singing one ditty especially just for you," she chirped brightly, eyes glazing with happiness.

Thomas gave her a small smile nodding his head, walking towards the back room. Not before looking back at your 'busy' form, pursing his lips.

Grace's eyes narrowed, catching that small look. Her eyes immediately followed his gaze only to find it placed upon you.

"So [Your Name], what have you been up to the past few days?" Your ears prickled in surprise. That had to be the first question she had asked you aside of 'how are you'. It all nothing beyond small-talk.

"Ah nothing, just worked here and I've been looking after Finn. And you?" Her eyes widened slightly.

"Oh." Her brows furrowed slightly. Knowing that she was most likely going to fish more information out of you to feed to Campbell, you attempted to change the subject.

"But you've been practically glowing at the seams, what has been happening on your end?" You asked, attempting to sound excited. You even raised your pitch a little, even though you already knew.

"Oh, I got invited to go to the races with Tommy, I've been shopping for a red dress." She raised her brows, biting her lip and tried to 'spot' him.

You managed to plaster a smile. 'Don't worry Grace. I got the message. Hands off.' You thought.

"Ah the races, how exciting! I'm sure the two of you will have fun," you winked suggestively.

Your chat with her had to be cut short. Thankfully, more customers began to pour in.

An hour later, Grace was once more up on the chair singing. All men in the room were entranced. You did not even try to spot Tommy, his eyes were most likely glued on to her like every other man in the room. That or still in the back doing business.

Why did you even care?

You knew those two would fall in love. Albeit there will be a little bit of trouble because of her working with Campbell, but that did not deter them at the end of season one according to your memory.

Smiling bitterly, you still had no idea why you were here. Were you supposed to assist the Peaky Blinders in some way?

Lead Michael to Polly, earlier than expected?

Sighing, you tried to block out your thoughts. Good that you did, you saw one of the men wipe a tear away from his eye. Crying. Not only him, but a few.

Smiling, you that it was beautiful. It made you want to sing a little as well, but only by yourself. At this moment, you wished you had a piano or a guitar. You had played them during high school. You were nothing special, just learnt a few chords and special songs.

"Ah bloody hell, why'd Tommy lift the ban off? They sound like dying dogs." John muttered, approaching you while gesturing at the swaying men.

Cue one man, clutching his chest as he belted out lyrics.

John rolled his eyes and placed his hands at his ears.

"It makes our job easier. Don't have to worry about men groping or anything. They'd be too sombre."

John immediately started laughing," Aye, you don't have to knock a few boys out to the land of the fairies."

You gave a strained smile and shrugged.

"Now that was a sight. I doubt anyone will try anything after that. Where'd you learn that lass?"

"Well back in Australia, I always fought with my siblings and got taught a few tricks while in Belgium." Purposefully avoiding that you trained martial arts for extra-curricular sports.

John tilted his head as he took a glass of whisky from you. You stationed another bottle next to it.

"Why were you at Belgium?"

"I was a combat nurse. My brothers and pa were stationed in Gallipoli, but I got sent to Belgium." John nodded

"Where are they now?"

"Not here anymore." Which technically was true, they haven't even been born yet!

John bowed his head, "I'll drink to them, lassie. Good that they taught you how to pack a punch." With that downed it.

"Your ma?"

"Influenza." John sighed and shook his head. "Sorry to hear that darl'. Didn't mean to open a can of worms, was just wondering why is it that there's a pretty lass doing here in Birmingham by herself."

You chuckled, opening your hands," It's all good John. Believe me I've been asking myself. It's bloody awful working here now, especially with you lot."

Rolling his eyes," Aye, I'd imagine. But I heard you're good with the books. Harry is going to need all the help he can get."

A giggle bubbled out as you winked at John," Don't worry John. I'm already on it." Taking out the books from beneath the counter you showed him the up to date records of inventory, profits and excess. Raising his eyebrows, he chewed on his toothpick," Blimey, we should have you over at this office."

You took the books away and shrugged. "Eh, I worked at my uncle's bar and just had a knack for maths."

Nodding with a sigh," At least we can rest easy that the place won't be in complete ruins."

Leaving both the glass and bottle at the bar, he waved. "G'night darl'. I've got me some errands to run."

 

Nodding," G'night John."

 

It was thankfully closing time. Harry, Grace and yourself had managed to clean and place everything in order. All that was left was to do a final sweep. Harry had also left you a pair of keys for the place to set up everything tomorrow. It'll be your first time managing the entire place yourself. Thankfully, he already changed and replaces the kegs.

Bringing out the broom, you began to leisurely sweep the floor. Humming softly, you once more wished you had a guitar.

 _"_ _Well I hope that I don't fall in love with you_  
'Cause falling in love just makes me blue  
  


Laughing bitterly in between the verse, this song was just a perfect summary of everything right now. Looking up to the ceiling, you continued on with the second verse.

 _'Well the room is crowded, people everywhere_  
And I wonder, should I offer you a chair?  
Well if you sit down with this old clown  
Take that frown and break it  
Before the evening's gone away  
I think that we could make it

Little did you know that a certain pair of cerulean eyes watched as you gently swayed. Tommy had been so engrossed with plans that he did not notice the time, only until he heard soft singing did he raise his head from the papers scattered around the table. The light was well and truly dimmed, but he had not noticed. He stood silent against the door frame of the back room, entranced by the lyrics and gentle timbers of your voice.

  
_'And I hope that I don't fall in love with you_

Shaking your head as you finished the verse, it reminded you of Tommy.

_'And I hope that I don't fall in love with you_

_I can see that you are lonesome just like me_  
And it being late, you'd like some company  
Well I turn around to look at you  
And you look back at me  
The guy you're with he's up and split  
The chair next to you's free  
And I hope that you don't fall in love with me

Sighing, you paused dejectedly. Your shoulders were slumped as you leaned against the broom. You were simply witnessing Grace's and Tom-Mr. Shelby's love, albeit tragic story. This song was bringing up the mellow, bittersweet feelings within you.

Shaking your shoulders, you placed the broom against the wall and stretched. As you began to dim out the lighting, Tommy stepped back into the room silently.

You luckily remembered to take your shopping that had been laying behind the bar for days. Holding everything in one hand, you managed to open the door and lock it with ease. Shuddering at the cold, you looked left and right. He's not here.

Pursing your lips, you began to walk home. You did not know what you felt or what to feel anymore.

Tommy emerged from the back room and sighed, thankfully he had the spare set of keys to the pub. Taking a bottle from the bar, he took a swig before lighting up a cigarette. He slumped against a seat and held his head in between his hands, cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. The final verse that you sang haunted him.

Shaking his head, he took another drag of his cigarette with a bitter chuckle. He was growing soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and please leave a comment and let me know you think! ;) - Zree-Zree


	4. Bloody Grace

Things slowly began to shape into a sort of routine. It was literally: work, visit Finn,  have Polly stuff you to the brim with food, sneak back into the church  and sleep. On repeat. You even started to bulge around the hem line with how much Pol’ had been feeding you!

By sheer luck, you had not run into Tommy for the last few days. He was always absent when you visited Finn. But you could always catch the familiar scent of his cologne lingering through the corridors when you went to Finn’s room. A musky, intoxicating smell that always made your stomach flutter when you inhaled deeply.

He was never at the pub during your shifts. Sure, Arthur was one of the main clients and John often joined but Tommy had practically been a ghost. It was a relief, yet it left a certain ache within you. That something was missing and wasn’t right.

It was getting ridiculous with how sentimental you were getting. You were not sure if you could ever look at him, yet alone utter a word to his direction.

However, it was never a chore to visit Finn and Polly every day. Even when slaving over the stove with Pol’ over the elderberry medicine.

Only today, John and Arthur were present.

“You know,” John paused between a mouthful of food,” …you should come over more often.”

“Yeah,” came the appreciative sigh of Arthur, “She actually cooks when you come!”

Polly rolled her dark eyes and wacked them both behind their heads,” Eat with your mouths closed, you lot!”

Both men sputtered and began to beat a fist at their chests to clear up the food.

You hid your smiling lips behind the rim of your cup of tea, hand shaking along with your shoulders in silent laugher.

It was true though. Every time you visited, Polly whipped up something. She always piled your plate high while always muttering something along the lines of  ‘you’re not eating properly’. 

Which isn’t a lie. There is a fair chance that you would have been dying from starvation by living off eucharists.

Sure you could buy bread, but your wages simply were not enough to afford a loaf every two days.

“Oi, John…where’s Tommy?” Finn slowly walked to the table, coughing heavily into his elbow.

Both of his elder brothers winced when they heard his raspy voice.

“He’s just been busy with business, Finn.” Arthur replied, grinning at his youngest brother.

“Oi, did you lose another tooth there Finny?” John piped, pushing his chair back.

Grinning widely, Finn showed off his pearly whites and pointed at the gap in the front bottom row.

“Have you tried whistling with it yet?”

Finn’s brows furrowed slightly as he looked up quizzingly at John before attempting to blow through the gap.

A shaky FFFFFFWAP permeated through.

Choking on your tea, you sputtered as Polly firmly wacked your back while laughing behind her free hand.

Tears were streaming at the corner of your eyes as your shoulders shook.

Except the sound of Finn coughing heavily broke the laughter.

“Ok Finn, back to bed with you.” Polly placed a hand on his shoulder.

“But-“

“No buts,” she ordered firmly, before walking him to his room.

Standing up, you placed your tea into the sink. The clock on the wall was unrelenting with the fact that you had twenty minutes till your shift at the pub.

“Alrightie, boys. I’ll be off to work, see you lot later!”

“Alright love, we’ll see you there.” John announced, placing a toothpick in his mouth before throwing his arms up behind his head with a cheeky grin.

You grinned at the brothers, saluting before walking off.

“Bye Pol’!” You called over your shoulder before stepping out of the warm, cosy house.

 

Midday on the dot, you opened the pub. Only it was slow, there were only one or two customers blearily hanging their heads over their beer after most likely losing some bets.

Chuckling to yourself, you brought out the books to start making an inventory and adding profits. Not like there would be much people coming in for a while.

‘The Shelby’s bought the pub last night.’ A crinkled paper a top of the books announced, the scratchy writing made you squint . It was as though a chicken used its nails to write the message.

Arthur probably did not know yet, otherwise Polly would’ve told you the news.

Well, might as well tie everything up nicely for him.

It was only after five in the afternoon that patrons started to come in.

Arthur swaggered in, most likely already drunk.

“Ah, just the lady I wanted to see!“

You immediately placed the books on the counter with neat, sorted stacks of invoices.

“…John did mention that you were good.” He commented wistfully, eyes squinting open and closed in disbelief.

“We could definitely use ya at the Blinders’.”

Chuckling you winked,” You haven’t even opened the books yet.”

He merely waved his hand, swaggering a little too much to the side as he walked towards the bar. It was akin to watching a new born lamb trying to walk on a rocky ship. His hands grasped the wood of the bar just in time to stop himself from toppling over.

“Have an Irish with me, will ya?” He asked, helping himself to a bottle while sloppily sliding two glasses on the bar.

He ‘suavely’ poured you a shot, almost knocking over the other bottles with his elbow.

 “Arthur, you’re not drunk, are you?” You asked, placing the glass on the bar. Both hands were curled under your chin while your elbow rested on the wooden bar top.

He was busy taking another ‘swig’ from a bottle. “Ah,” he sighed in pleasure, rolling his shoulders.

“Ere’, have it dearie. It’s on me for looking after Finn.”

He used the said bottle and must have poured you at least three more shots into the glass, overflowing the alcohol at the rim. Completely ignoring your question.

Something was hurting him. Sure he drank, but to this extent it was not normal.

His eyes were hollow despite the cheeky grin on his face.

“Arthur, what happened?” You softly asked, watching the man shrug his shoulders back as downed another shot.

“…S’ Nothin’.”

With his neck pulled back, red angry marks were visible around his neck.

You swallowed. You remembered now…he tried to hang himself. His father came, screwed him over and left.

Tommy got him the pub to cheer him up and to take his mind off the guns and the hurt. The post-traumatic-stress. Hopefully the pub would indeed ease his woes.

 

It broke your heart to see Arthur like this. Alcohol stains on his normal crisp, white shirt. His knuckles bruised and bloody.

“…It gets better. I promise.” Your voice alerted his ears, his body swaying as he turned to face your pursed lips.

Almost as though you knew what was wrong. Of what was wrong with him.

He swallowed and held up a glass in mock salute before downing another.

“Cheers big ears,” he called, once more ignoring your previous sentence.

Sighing, you stood up and walked behind the bar.

Swinging his arm over your shoulder, you guided him over to the nearest booth.

“C’mon, boss-man.” You beckoned as he dropped himself onto the seat.

His head hang low, his normal combed back hair covered his eyes.

“Look Arthur, if you ever need anyone to talk to…I’m here. I won’t ever judge you.”

All you saw was a tear drop before he collapsed asleep into his arms atop of the table.

Shaking your head, you gently rubbed his back before standing up.

He was going to need A LOT of water and maybe just a bucket to be on the safe side.

Suddenly the doors swung open and in walked John with his signature toothpick in his mouth.

“Oh bloody hell,” he shook his head with a sigh. His shoulders visibly rising and descending in a deep breath.

“I got him there on time right before he passed out,” you uttered, placing the largest glass you could find in the pub filled with water next to the slumbering Arthur.

“Fucking Da’, I swear if I ever see him I will-“

He froze right as he saw Arthur lift his head up and throw his guts up into the bucket you had thankfully left beside him.

The two of you cringed as you approached Arthur. The heaving and wet splatter of the contents of his stomach made you green in the face.

John merely sighed and lit up a cigarette as though it were a normal occurrence.

“What? The cigarette blocks out the smell. If I smell that, I’ll be joining him spewing me’ guts out.”

John brought both hands up in mock salute, the cigarette hanging from his lips.

Pursing your lips, you sighed. He did kind of have a point.

Sitting next to Arthur, you rubbed at his back as he heaved out everything.

“Come closer and help!” You ordered at John, who still stood a fair few metres away.

The man shook his head and continued smoking.

“I don’t want his vomit on my shoes, _again_.”

Your eyes narrowed on him into a warning glare.

“You’re his brother and he needs your support.” You pursed your lips, eyes still glowering at John.

“Darl’-“

“Now.”

“Aye, drill seargent. Polly’d be proud of you,” he muttered under his breath as you stood up.

Rolling your eyes,” I’m going to go to the apothercy to get him something for the stomach. Stay here and man the bar if needed.”

“But-“

 

 

 

With that you began to make your way to the door. Of course, only to run into the only man you were trying to avoid. Here you were running on a fabulous streak. It had been three days since you last saw him. Well, at least physically.

He only haunted your dreams every time you closed your eyes. Those baby blues of his were always so vivid, deep. He was always somehow at the back of your mind no matter how hard you tried to stop it.

Yet seeing him and those eyes of his in real life, was a complete different kind of wonder.

Dressed sharply with his cap shadowing his eyes, he took a long drag from his cigarette before taking his cap off. Always the mysterious Shelby.

His hair was freshly shaved and trimmed and not a single thing was out of place on him.

Clean shaven, his face  was defined by the sharp ridges of his cheek bones and jaw that made ladies sigh in delight.

Inhaling deeply, all you could smell was him. Cigarettes and the very same cologne that intoxicated you when you kissed him nights ago.

Pursing your lips slightly, your eyes slowly trailed up to those beautiful eyes of his. They were enigmatic, reflecting the blue of the ocean at the brief crack of lightning on a stormy day.

…You missed him.

Sidestepping him, you practically bolted as though the devil himself were on your heels. You did not even notice Polly who  was trying to greet you while you had practically disappeared in a matter of seconds.

“Tommy, what on earth did you do to send the her running like she did?” Polly asked, her tone neutral. Her brow was raised with a sharp V as she stared at him. Tommy merely blinked at her and continued to walk into the pub wordlessly.

Polly closed her eyes, feeling her patience diminishing by the second. She knew something was happening.

Little did she know just how paranoid you were minutes later. Police men dressed in black with their odd tall hats were striding through the streets. Their batons were drawn, and you could hear both men and women screaming.

“Give me back my purse!” One lady shouted as a copper yanked it away from her. You stood with fists firmly closed, forgetting just how brutal the police were.

Not just any policemen, but Campbell. The hairs on your neck stood like needles as you spotted his ridiculous moustache and top hat. Honestly, it was like a porn star’s moustache!

Your feet immediately pivoted away lest he or any other policeman notice your presence on the street. You needed to warn the Shelby’s.

You began to walk your way back to the Garrisons, keeping a calm stride as though nothing was amiss. You did not want to draw any unnecessary attention to yourself. If you were to run, it would be blatantly obvious that you were trying to avoid the police. Thus, arousing Campbell’s suspicion. How on earth did you forget about him?

“Ah, is this someone trying to get away from inspection?” A condescending voice called. You kept walking forward, as though you did not hear anything.

“Young lady, you are to stop in the name of the law.” The Irish accent immediately made you quicken your pace. You were only a few minutes away.

“One more step and I will have to take necessary action.” Swallowing, you came to an abrupt stop.

You turned around slowly, noticing how Campbell’s eyes moved up and down your body. The disgusting old pig. “Sorry, were you talking to me?” You asked, eyes wide as a doe in attempt to portray innocence.

Campbell smirked, his moustache curling reminding you of the whiskers of a plump Cheshire cat. He was chubby like one. A bit of a pot belly protruding out of his black suit.

“[Your Name]. Ah, just the lady I wanted to see.”

Shocked, you gazed at him in open surprise. “How do you know my name?” You asked.

“You see, it’s my job to know any suspicious characters who liase with the Peaky Blinders Miss [Your Name].”

Swallowing you looked at him with confusion.

“Especially someone with no records of arriving to Britain. No proof of being in Belgium. No family being in Gallipoli. No records of address here in Birmingham.”

Swallowing, you clenched your fists at your dress mutely.

How did he- Grace. It was Grace. Feeling anger burn through your veins, you swore to yourself that you were going to pummel her. Maybe rip out a little a bit of her perfectly curled strands, dye her hair brown with some dirt and some spit for extra measure.

Or possibly run her over, cover her in gasoline and light a match. In the middle of a street. That way when it rains, her remains will be washed down the gutters and enter the sewerage.

 Tommy’s future wife be bloody damned.

“No…It’s just that papers get lost. Australia’s a long way away, which is most likely why you can’t find anything on me.”

Campbell’s eyes narrowed, his dark orbs threatening to destroy you. “Are you mocking me?”

 “A ‘lost’ whore of the Shelby’s is what you are.” He smirked, taking your arm and gripping onto your wrist, his nails digging into the bandages that covered your cut.

“Answers [Your Name]. Now what do you know of the Peaky Blinders. The guns.”

Oh, you knew everything. But he didn’t need to know that. You bit back a wince as his nails dug into your stiches.

“Don’t pretend not to know anything. You looked after the youngest one, Finn?”

You sealed your lips shut, eyes narrowing as his nails dug further and deeper in your hands.

Biting your lips, you held back a wince as tears began to form at the corners of your eyes.

His nails were like sharp, unrelenting knives scraping and piercing along your wounds.

 “He had the influenza. You see, I am a nurse and teacher by trade sir.” You spoke, spine straightening and lifting your chin up. You were not going to let this fat oompa-loompa intimidate you.

“Yes, yes. A teacher who whores herself for the Blinders. We’ve been over that ” He dismissed, moving his white gloved hand flippantly.

“The Guns.” He repeated, gritting his teeth behind a strained smirk.

“I know nothing. I just work at the bar.” You reiterated.

The grip on your hand tightened, this time you could not hide a wince. Your brows furrowed a you bit your lip. Oh, how you wanted to bash his face in. Your blood was beginning to boil oh so dangerously.

 “I wonder if Thomas Shelby would like to know that this whore who is looking after his younger brother has no proof of residence. A criminal on the run perhaps. Hiding something.”

Sorry Campbell, but you were sure that Thomas Shelby was already suspicious of you. He already knew that you were hiding something.

He paused, looking at you snidely.

“I hope you realise that I can fabricate documents since you have none miss [Your Name]. I can make you to be of any background I want. I can simply hand some documents to Mister Shelby stating that you are a spy of the government. He does not take well to having liars in his midst. Especially near his family.”

The bloody bastard was blackmailing you!

Screw pummelling him. It was better to gauge his eyes out with a toothpick and use it as a garnish for him to sip up out of his martini. Never mind if martinis weren’t invented yet, you’d make it especially for him. All you had to do was borrow one of John’s toothpicks and you’d be set!

…Too bad that you were too chicken shit to do so in real life.

One can only dream right?

“Or I can just throw you into jail, you will most likely be hung for unauthorised entry into Britain.”

“But that would not suit my purpose. You see, I’m willing to give you a chance. I’m willing to let you keep your life if you decide to work for me as a ‘intel gatherer’ on the Blinders. I will even pay you handsomely for it.”

“But even if I completed this spy business, you would still have hold over me with falsified documents. You would either kill me or keep me working because of those documents.” You stated bitterly.

“Aye. But I’m willing to compromise. If you do a good enough job, I may just give you those documents and we never have to meet. I give you my word as a gentleman.”

Oh, you knew how much his ‘word’ meant. It meant less than the shit. This man knew he had the cards and was going to play you like a puppeteer.

Bloody Grace.

“Every fortnight, we will meet in the museum at midday. See you in two weeks, [Your Name]. And please give my regards to the Shelby’s.”

He let go of your wrists, nodding at you before proceeding back to ordering his men.

Seething, you wanted nothing more than to wrap your hands around the toad’s throat. Fuck.

The stitches under the now reddening bandages burned angrily. He really is a bloody prick.

You kept a calm walk until you were out of the view of the police before running to the Garrisons.

Panting, your abruptly slammed the doors open of the Garrisons. Polly immediately looked at you with concern. “What is it [Your Name]?”

Her hands rubbing your back as you sat gasping at the nearest booth. Arthur, drunk as he may be even tripped on his feet to where you were sitting. Atleast he stopped vomiting.

“Who’s been giving you a hard time?” He drawled, barely standing straight.

“T-The police. They’re ransacking the streets.” Polly immediately swore.

“Tommy. I told him that those guns were no good!” She spat as she continued to stroke your back. Her eyes widened as she noticed that your wrists were turning an angry purple and that your bandages were red.

“Who did this to you [Your Name]?” She gently took your arm and rolled your sleeve. Arthur’s eyes narrowed into a dangerous glint. This was perhaps the first time you saw him angry.

Oh, you would love to tell them. But you couldn’t. If you did, it would give you away. Campbell would kill you or he’d simply get Tommy to should he give him false documents.

“The police….I don’t who.” You whispered.

“But I came to warn you that they’re coming. I only want you all to be safe and ok.”

Arthur nodded,” I’ll be talking to Tommy.”

“No need,” you heard the deep timbres of his voice. Yet it seemed, deeper than usual.

You turned your head only to see him looking at your hands. His face blank and impenetrable. Yet his eyes were a different story, it was as though a storm was brimming in his dark blue depths.

Your breath left you once more momentarily. He looked menacingly despite having his cold, poised expression. You nodded, unable to say anything. You could not tell what was going through his head.

He was already suspicious of you as it is and now with Campbell blackmailing you to do his bidding, it looked even worse.

If Tommy ever caught whiff of your involvement, you knew for certain that you would be dead. Even if you were to tell him the truth, you still appeared suspicious. Always refusing to tell him your address. A random girl from Australia who is overqualified for a bar job just decided to live in Birmingham. Conveniently the same time as Campbell. Never mind that Grace was the same, but he would overlook her.

He did in the show. He practically married the woman even though she left and married a rich man in America.

You were fucked either way.

Campbell needed to die.

And it had to be as soon as possible. That or you were most likely be shot into the stream by the blinders and become fish food.

This was no longer a thing of imagination. Not a show to watch on Netflix.

Your life was threatened. Your hands red were red with blood, throbbing to beat of your pulse.

Campbell was not some random sadistic bastard you wanted to play with. He always delivered one way or another…and you needed to think fast.

Nor did you want to play with Tommy.

You needed to somehow throw Campbell off  with small pockets of information. But he had Grace. Grace would be telling him everything and anything you said. It would collide with her intel… you were in the shit.

Bloody Grace.

“I will get some bandages, wait here dear,” Polly said with a sigh, immediately began walking to bar.

Swallowing you nodded. You just needed to calm down and workout where in the timeline things were occurring.

Tommy was yet to still take Grace to the races, but it was this weekend. You let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing your least injured hand at your forehead.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed once more, taking in your sighing form. You were obviously deep in thought. His hand gently grabbed yours, to slowly unbind the bandage of your hand. Your face practically snapped as you looked at him frightened. You paused, letting out breath of what looked of seeming relief.

Paranoia.

His steel blue eyes narrowed even more. What made you so paranoid? What did the police say or do to you?

“It’s ok. I can do it.” You spoke, biting your lip nervously. Quite uncharacteristic of you. It was only two evenings ago that you were shouting profanities at him. With absolutely no fear or care of consequences.

“What did they say to you?” He asked, ignoring you as he took of the last part of the bandage. Everything was healing nicely aside from the last stitch that the bastard had touched broke.

“Nothing.”

His eyes snapped up at yours, you felt as though he was looking into your soul. You knew now that he practically smelt the lie.

“The fat one with the ridiculous moustache said for me to ‘give his regards’ to you.” That was what he said technically.

Tommy nodded, standing up while Arthur promptly began roaring with laughter.

“That’s got to be the most honest description I’ve ever heard,” he sputtered in between laughs as Polly brought out the bandage and ointment.

“There is a first aid kit here after you had your hands cut,” Polly spoke, her eyes glinting mischievously at Tommy. She took ointment and gently applied it over the cut, before once more wrapping your hand.

“I thought I was supposed to be the nurse,” you spoke, attempting to joke. Polly snickered,” Aye but you seem to be the one injuring yourself, young lady. You need to be more careful.”

“How’s Finn?”

“Better, I’m having a hard time keeping him bed. That bloody concoction we made seems to be working.”

You chuckled, hiding a wince when she pulled the bandage a twinge too hard.

You looked up from your hand only to find Tommy gone. Your eyes scanned everywhere, he must have gone back to the room. You let out another sigh as Polly tied the knot. Her eyes had been very aware of you looking for Tommy and how your expression withered when you could not find him.

“I…should get going.” You uttered, pursing your lips at the tug of the knot Polly made. Tommy did it gentler and more neatly than the matriarch. Though he did say he learned it from the war.

You could only wonder at what he saw, felt and lived through.

“I’ll… walk you… home then,” piped Arthur, slurring between words.

You raised an eyebrow,” You’d collapse before you even walk out the door! And I dropped the bloody medicine because of those cops!”

“I’m anyway going to church for the evening mass. I’ll be fine.”

“Then I’ll be going with you then, I’m also attending tonight’s service. No use being alone with the coppers on the streets.” Polly piped as she readied her purse, standing up.

The walk was pleasant aside from hearing shouts of distress and annoyance aimed at the police.

Polly linked her arm with yours as the two of you strolled, glaring at every copper.

“What is going on?” She abruptly asked, as the two of you neared the church.

“Pardon?” You asked, eyes widening as the lady looked at you with a pointed look. Her no- nonsense look. The one that made grown men freeze and whipped John’s children to behave.

She means business

“I saw the way you look at each other.” Thankfully the two of you had reached the church, kneeling before sitting at the pews. Her eyes practically warned that this conversation was not over when the priest began the introductory ritual.

You could now recite it word to word thanks to hearing it every damned morning. Even mimic his nasal voice quite convincingly.

When the mass had ended, the two of you waited until everyone left.

“Whatever is said here stays between you, Aunt Polly and God,” she said as she lit a candle.

You chuckled softy, ah your remembered that line.

“There’s not much to talk about. I’m not ‘looking’ at anyone.”

Polly merely rolled her eyes, and you swore that if smoking was permitted in the church, she would have tapped the ash off the cigarette like an indifferent investigator.

“Does it look like I was born yesterday?” Her dark eyes pinned you, her left brow arching.

“No.” You pursed your lips, eyes looking at every detail of each painting of the stations of the cross.

“You and Tommy.” Was all she uttered, her unblinking eyes pierced yours.

“There’s nothing…”

Her eyes narrowed, and her lips tightened into a thin, single line. She was a scary, unrelenting dragon of a woman. You realised that she was not going to let this go

“There’s nothing he see’s in me.” You finally uttered, feeling your shoulders sag.

“If anything, ask Grace. There’s something between them.” You lifted your bandaged hands in mock submission.

“He even lets her sing every Saturday and she’s going with him at the races.” You commented, fiddling with soft fabric of your dress.

“He lets her sing in the bar?” Polly asked, her lips pursing into a thin line. You nodded, smiling bitterly.

You shrugged,” Yes. See? Nothing”

Polly gently grasped your arm and sighed, looking straight ahead at the large crucifix at the front.

“Not nothing.” She uttered, a smirk pinching at corner of her lips.

You looked at her with a raised eyebrow,” I don’t see it. Just observe those two together next time.”

Polly’s eyes crinkled as her eyes met yours, showing the graceful signs of aging in the stems around her eyes. “Aye. But that does not mean love my dear girl.”

Oh, if only she knew what you knew. Those two were destined together. You had already seen it all from your bed while watching Netflix after a long days’ worth of work. Tommy will love her, if he hasn’t began loving her already. And he will love her madly.

“There comes a time when a man may start thinking and listening to something else other than his cock…” Polly trailed with all knowing tone.

“My Lord, I sound like a sappy old bat.”

She immediately made a quick sign of the cross. “Shouldn’t be swearing in the lord’s house,” she muttered, shaking her head.

You couldn’t help but let out a giggle while she pretended to look at you sternly. Her own smile betrayed her, a slight twitch from the corner of lips told you so.

 “But what I mean to say is: give him time.” Yes, you knew that time would lead to Grace capturing his heart.

You nodded anyway, hoping to move onto another topic. “But you will come to lunch this Sunday? Finn has been asking for you.” It was more of a fact than a question, but you smile,” Absolutely.”

Grace had stayed back that evening, having the entire pub to herself. She had just finished cleaning the last few tables and tried to go through the inventory and the books. She herself was good at maths, but the way your organised the profits, inventory was extraordinary. How you did this is a manner of no more than an hour each day was remarkable.

She sighed, figuring that it was better to just leave it for you to do it the next morning. It would save time for both Arthur and her.

Speaking of Arthur, she analysed how he interacted with you. Arthur treated her cordially enough, but he seemed to really have more of a soft spot for you. Something about ‘big ears’ bonded the two of you in some inside joke.

But she really needed to move things along. She needed clues, information to find those guns. Yet for some reason, she just could not get along with you.

Most conversations were really just small talk and if she ever tried to ask something about the blinders or your past, all she received were one-worded answers. Polite and cordial. Nothing else was divulged.

 You were just a tad better than talking to a brick wall.

You were almost like Tommy. Reserved, refusing to give anything away. Yet with others, you were more open. Smiling and even laughing.

You never gave her a hair of trust. She could only imagine what it would be like if you knew she tipped Campbell off.

This could hinder the intel she could be gathering and her working relationship with you.

That and for the fact that she was becoming more and more attracted to Tommy each time she saw him. His eyes, his voice. Everything. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold a sense of professionalism in her task to seduce him. To get him to trust her. To tell her everything about the guns.

To look at her in a certain manner….

But, she knew immediately that you fancied Tommy. The way you looked at him when you thought no one else was looking.

Like an innocent, lost doe.

To everyone else it appeared as though you were indifferent towards him. But she could see through it. She knew, because she has feelings for him as well. That and a growing sense of jealousy that could provide a negative consequence in her data collecting.

She saw how his eyes drifted towards you.

Sighing, she wiped down the final table. What was she to do?

She needed to be closer to Tommy and unfortunately, you were making it difficult. It was out of professionalism and for the mission that she needed to create some sort of rift between you and the Shelby’s.

You needed to be removed.

For the sake of the mission.

…At least that was what she kept telling herself.

Suddenly the doors opened. A slumped form of Tommy Shelby greeted her as he collapsed almost uncharacteristically against a chair. His head fell back as he let out a sigh.

Her eyes furrowed in worry at how damp his hair and skin was.

 “Whisky.” Was all he said.

“I’m assuming that you would not like some company?” She questioned as she returned to him with a bottle and glass in her hands.

“Stay.”

“How is that beautiful horse of yours?”

“I just put a bullet in between his eyes.” Grace looked at him in surprise, her heart heavy for the poor dead creature.

“He looked at me the wrong way.” His eyes looked dead. But she could see something. Anguish.

Tommy sighed as he took out a cigarette and lit it. “In France… I got used to seeing men die.”

He paused as he inhaled,” Never got used to seeing horses die.”

She had to physically stop herself from touching him. At this moment, she wanted nothing more than to caress his hair back from his forehead. She swallowed.

“They die badly.”

All she could do was close her eyes and nod.

“Sing me a song.” Her ears perked at the odd request. Had she heard correctly?

“Happy or sad?” She asked as she climbed onto a chair, feeling butterflies flutter in her stomach. No one made her feel this way. Not even when she sang in front of a large crowd. She gave him a smile with her hands on her hips as she awaited his response.

“Sad.”

“Let me warn you, I will break your heart.” Her hands were clasped together in front of her as she tried to keep a smile up for him.

He shook his head as lowered his voice,“… already broken.”

With that, she took a deep breath and sang him ‘Black velvet Band’.

Little did they both know that you stood at the front doors frozen. Your hand raised as though to push the door.

A cool tear trickled your cheek  as you heard him utter,” Already broken.” If only he knew how much you identified with him that moment. Broken. You felt utterly broken. You came to pick up the grocery bag that you had forgotten to take after the whole troubles with the coppers. Only to come across the two sharing perhaps the first of many  intimate moments.

Thomas Shelby did not ever show emotions or let down his guard to anyone. Yet here he was, slouched and eyes exhausted. Not the straight postured, impenetrable eyed man you normally saw.

He was a human being and she seemed to bring that side out of him effortlessly.

 Grace began her song.

There she goes, slowly enchanting him under her spell. You closed your eyes. No. You could not possibly feel anything for him. You knew. You knew exactly that those two were to be. You watched it on Netflix and even cheered them on. Tommy deserved someone.

You were stupid.

So, so stupid!

You knew it all!

Yet you felt more cool drops drip down your face against your will as Grace sung the haunting song.

Her sweet voice lulling Tommy as he smoked cigarette after cigarette.

Why were you even crying?

Rubbing at your eyes angrily you cursed,” Fuck this. Fuck it all. Fuck you Grace. Fuck you Campbell.”

You knew it all before it even began with them!

Yet this annoying pest of a heart seemed to be battering itself manically within your chest.

You could not be….not this early on?

You hadn’t even had a decent conversation with Tommy. Not since he wrapped your hands.

Yet even with all this knowledge, your traitorous heart felt as though it had been pieced my millions of tiny needles.

It hurt to breathe.

“…and fuck you Thomas Shelby.”

Swallowing, you stepped away. Only to tumble down the last few stairs, landing on your knees and grazing your elbow.

“Fuck,” you whispered between sobs, forcing yourself to stand up and head towards the church. You needed to stop these blasted tears. Only the clouds had decided to let down rain, hiding your tears. You could not tell what was pouring harder, your eyes or the clouds.

Cold and wet to the bone. It was exactly as the first night when you first found yourself in the shit hole known as Birmingham, you trudged onwards.

You were so stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Pretty lady, I’d be in need of some servincin’” A raspy voice alerted your ears. You immediately turned around only to be grasped none too gently.

“Ah, so pretty. Why so sad?” His breath was fouler than a decomposing corpse. You never smelt one, but you had an inkling it could compare to one.

He also seemed to be toothless. His fingers began to trail up from your waist towards your chest.

You immediately elbowed him to the face and sent another elbow to his jaw, knocking toothless out. Your hands had enough abuse recently.

The only good thing about Toothless, was that he shocked you from crying further. Albeit temporarily. The adrenaline you felt coursing through your veins numbed all other emotion. You continued to trudge, leaving his limp body behind. However, the rain began to pour heavier. So was the rain for your eyes.

 

‘I’ve got to stop these tears,

That’s falling from my eyes.

Go walk out in the rain,

So no one see’s me cry’

 

 

 

 


	5. Zombies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ullo' my darling readers! Apologies for the delay in updates, here's a super long chapter to hopefully make up for it! Thank you so much for reading and letting me know what you think ;)

**Chapter 5**

It was all bloody pointless.

Blackmails, death threats, catching the cold and possibly dying from being constantly wet from the bloody rain.

By the time you got to the Garrisons, your dress stuck to you like second skin and your socks squelched with every step you took.

“Fuckin’ Birmingham,” you muttered, unlocking the doors of the pub.

Even though it was midday, it was as dark as an old, creaky cellar. To top it off, someone forgot to clean up the white vomit on the counter and the place stank to high heaven.

There was even some blood in it.

 “For fuck’s sake,” you moaned, at the state of the bar. There were buckets of vomit and spit needed to be emptied.

Dirty, sticky glasses were strewn all around the sink, just waiting to fall over.

The door swung open abruptly, “ Oi, can I get me a pint?”

Arthur stood, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Three seconds.

That was all it took.

The whole sets of dirty glasses filled with lord knew what came barrelling all over you, ricocheting into tiny pieces like fireworks everywhere.

“….Fuck’s sake.”

 

 “Lass, why the long look on your face?” Arthur snapped you out of your thoughts, his white sleeves rolled up as he swept up the glass.

Eyes bloodshot, grey bags framed them underneath like heavy clouds on your face.

“Having to clean this shit, vomit and piss here because miss Burgess forgot to.” You muttered behind clenched teeth.

Even mentioning her name made your mood sour even more.

 “You’ve been like this the entire week. Has she upset ye? Tell me, we’ll boot her out.”

His index finger waved at your direction, brows high as he pursed his thin lips.

Oh, it was tempting.

 “I’m fine,” you uttered, picking up a checkered cloth, wiping off the wet residue of the bar.

Every time you strained the cloth, dark yellow liquid squirted out. Fucking fabulous, Grace. Great fucking job.

“It’s not her…I’m just a bit under the weather is all.”

Arthur kept looking at you. His warm, coffee eyes urging you to answer him properly. “[Your Name]…”

His voice deepened.

“It’s just been a shit week,” your shoulders sagged, rinsing off another glass.

“What’s made it shit?”

A bloody good question.

“Everything.”

His eyes implored yours, beckoning you to tell him.

“Look it’s nothing. No one. I’m just stupid.” You uttered, placing a hand on his arm after rinsing it under the tap. Gods, could he just let it go?

“It’s nothing more Arthur,” your voice almost seemed to plead.

He didn’t know who you were lying more to, him or yourself.

His shoulders sagged under your damp hand as he nodded.

“Ok big ears,” he pursed his lips, plopping down on a stool. It didn’t sit well with him to see you so blue, but it was better that he let it go. For now.

“…I need a favour big ears.”

You nodded, brows raising as you continued rinsing the glasses.  .

“Things at the office are becoming busier because of the races. I haven’t had the chance to update the books. I was wondering if you could do it? Of course, we’ll pay you more. But…,” he paused, rubbing at his chin.

“….don’t tell Tommy.”

Lips quirking, you raised your soapy hands in mock surrender,” My lips are sealed. I won’t be saying nothing to Mr Doom and Gloom. No questions asked Arthur.”

A small speckle of soap suds landed on the tip of his nose as he let out a relieved sigh.

 “…That’s not just from this week is it?” You asked with a raised eyebrow, giggling at how the man rubbed at the tip off his nose. Almost going cross eyed at the white fluff.

 “…Not sure, maybe six months?”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll cover it.”

“Thank you darl’, you have no idea for how long I’ve been bloody been buried under all this.”

Shaking your head, you attempted to swing the bag over your shoulder.

“You weren’t kiddin’ that this was burying you! You could knock someone out with that!”

Arthur shrugged and walked behind the bar and grabbed a glass. Your eyes softened as you watched him pour himself at least three shots.

“Everything ok, Arthur?” You asked. He looked at you surprised, eyes widened just before he placed the glass to his lips.

“Ehrm, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look a zombie.”

You pointed out plainly, hands on your hips. The man swallowed and placed his glass down after downing the entire thing.

“Zombie?”

You paused.

“A walking dead corpse that eats brains.”

He blinked slowly, hand hovering over another bottle.

“Zombie.”

“Yes. A zombie.”

“You’re a strange one, y’ know that?”

Huffing you took the glass from his hands and placed the bottle away.

“Oi, whatddya’ doing!”

You looked at him again and shrugged. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally pursing his lips in defeat, “…Fine.”

“They’re going to need you at a hundred percent for whatever’s happening tomorrow. Please look after yourself Arthur.”

You wagged a finger at his face. “And get some sleep tonight.”

He groaned, “I’ll try.” Shaking his head, he looked at you incredulously,” Slave driver.”

You laughed,” Old bones.” You called out as he began to head for the entrance door.

“Oi!” He called over his back, before giving you a smile.

With that you began to sort through the stacks of paper in the sack Arthur brought over.

It was a bomb. He had no sense of organisation and it  was akin to sorting out needles from a haystack.

 The old book was a mess with scribbled sums and what you assumed was alcohol marks. Receipts, invoices were everywhere. Not ordered by date. You rubbed your face exasperatedly, this was going to take days to complete.

It was at around midday that you decided to pack all the paperwork as clients were going to start coming in soon. You managed to sort one third of the pile into some semblance of order in folders. Placing everything into the cupboards, you were oblivious to the entrance of a certain Shelby. His pale blues eyes analysed your turned form.

“Whisky.” His voice startled you, you jumped and let out a surprise cuss. His lips almost twitched, as he saw you huff at him.

You brought out a glass and placed a bottle on the bar for him. Completely ignoring him.

“[Your Name].” He voiced.

You paused midstep. What on earth did he bloody he want?

“Mr. Shelby.” You stated, looking him dead on in the eye.

As the saying goes, fake it till you make it. Only that was a terrible mistake. Butterflies erupted no matter how hard you tried to keep them at bay.

So did the sharp twinge from your heart.

“You will be joining us tomorrow at the race.” It wasn’t a question.

“Huh?” Was your oh-so graceful response. You must have looked like a piranha, your eyes wide and with your mouth slightly agape. He lit a cigarette, sighing as he took a long drag,” Wear your best. I will pick you up at eleven from here.”

He picked up the glass and began to walk away.

“Excuse me, but I do have plans.” You voiced. The less you had to do with him, the better.

Tommy paused and turned around. His eyes were hard.

“Yes. Plans to go to the races tomorrow.”

He turned away and once more strode towards the back room.

The bloody arrogance of that man.

But tough luck for him, he was going to have to learn that you were not going to go along with all his orders and whims.

Shoulders stout, you inhaled and with a firm stride you opened the doors of the backroom without knocking.

 “I’m not going.”

Tommy’s eyes immediately snapped up from a white piece of parchment in his hands, narrowing.

“I want to check on Finn and I have a shift here.”

You shouldn’t even have to bloody explain yourself to him.

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette, snubbing it into the silver ashtray.

Standing up with his sleeves rolled up, he picked up a glass and drank his shot. The hollow clang hit the table as he strode to you. In a few steps your face was but a few inches from his.

Standing your ground,  you squared your shoulders.

Only your breath hitched at the warmth and firmness of his fingers at your chin.

Your eyes had once more connected in an intimate twine.

You couldn’t have looked away from his deep stare even if you had tried.

There it was again.

That delicious, tortuous flutter of your heart.

The smell, the taste of his lips were but tendrils away.

The musk of smoky cigarette, and oaken notes of whisky. It filled your senses, so much that your tongue subconsciously moved over your lower lips. Cheeks flushed and lips reddening, you inhaled deeply.

Gods you were drunk on his scent and the feeling of his warm breath.

You could feel his breath tickle your cheeks, sending every hair on your body spring up like a needle. You closed your eyes.

“[Your Name], it has all been organised. You have the day off tomorrow.”

His husky voice whispered over your face as you swallowed once more.

 “Do I really need to come?” You whispered, feeling your  fingers ache to caress his jaw,  brow and finally his lips.

His own fingers continued to ghost gentle swirls over your chin and cheeks,” Yes.”

His lips were so close. He was temptation, that Shelby devil.

”I don’t have any good dresses Mr. Shelby.” You spoke honestly, all you had was priest robes and the odd everyday working dress from the charity bin from the church.

You stepped back, immediately missing his touch. But you needed to. You did not need any more drama or pain in your life.

Within seconds his hand gently cupped yours and with the other he placed coins in your hand.

“Tommy,” he voiced. “It is Tommy to you.”

Your eyes widened, he had given you too much!

“No. I don’t need that much. I don’t want your charity.” You spoke, abruptly trying to place the coins back into his hand.

He merely closed his fist as you tried to pry it open. It was as though you were trying to loosen an iron clamp.

“This is your work allowance for coming tomorrow.”

Oh right. This was for work.

There it was again, that tight clench over your heart.

He was simply using you as a pawn. Probably to sway Kimber.

You merely left the coins on the table and turned your back to walk back to the bar.

“I don’t want it.”

Tommy closed his eyes and took a breath.

“This is exactly what I am giving to Grace.” His voice deepened, that was the only sign that you got that told you he was vexed.

“I am not Grace. Nor do I work for you Mr Shelby!”

Placing your hands on your hips, voice deepening,” I’m. Not. Going.”

His eyes narrowed on your walking form. Defiant.

“And what of your future with the Garrisons?”

Is he threatening you? Is this his way of showing the middle finger while mentioning in a tongue in cheek manner that he was the boss? Not yours directly but THE boss.

“You can’t just do that!” You exclaimed, fists clutched tightly as you swung back violently on your heels towards him.

He merely kept a blank stare as you kept hollering insults. “You have your choice, you can take it or continue acting like a child.”

“I have a choice? I’ll end up on the streets eating bloody eucharists and reduced to a beggar. All because of you!”

“You have a choice.”

“You manipulative, stubborn pig-headed donkey!” You hissed, eyes narrowed into prickled slits.

You practically slammed your palm over the coins of the table, wincing as your stiches cried in protest.

“Another whisky.”

The audacity of that man! He wants a whisky, he’ll get his whisky.

Grabbing a bottle, you stomped towards the back room.

“..” You slammed the bottle on the table, making sure that it spilled a little on his suite.

“You can man the bar then, Mr Shelby. I need to go and buy a dress.” With that, you left Thomas Shelby with a whisky stain.  


Your own tongue in cheek, middle finger to him.

 

It was complete and utter madness what that man did to you.

One moment you were too scared to even walk out onto the streets in case you even. Yet when you saw him, you were reduced to nothing but a bloody love-sick puppy.

But when he ordered you around, the audacity, the arrogance...it drove you mad.

 It made you want to throttle that perfect neck of his and throw every damned bottle in the pub at him.

The man would most likely have your dead body in the docks ‘mysteriously’ come Sunday morning after you finish with the race.

If not Campbell killing you, it would be Thomas Shelby to squeeze the trigger.

You were so screwed.

Your temper was going to get you killed. But it’s only with him. You had never lost your cool like that not at least since you were a child. One moment you were trying to stop yourself from jumping his bones then the next moment you were bellowing and cursing him to hell and back.

He was right in calling you a child in one way.

 “Fuck,” you swore as you walked towards the clothes shop.

You avoided red dresses like the plague. The last thing you needed on top of everything was to  attract Kimber’s attention. The slimy snake.

Within an hour you had set up a hairdresser appointment for tomorrow morning, bought a beautiful crimson lipstick. You could not imagine that 1920’s makeup was good for the skin, and to this day you were terrible with putting eyeliner and mascara on. No, you wanted to keep it simple, yet presentable.

Let Grace soak in the attention of the men, you wanted to be incognito. So, a red lipstick was all that you were putting on your face.

It was after four stores that you had found a beautiful cerulean blue dress. It was simple, yet elegant. It reminded you of his eyes.

Pursing your lips, you shook your head. It was a poor attempt to sway your thoughts away from him.

 Sighing, you closed your eyes as your fingers ghosted over the smooth silk of the dress. No. You did not want to be reminded of him.

“Please try it on miss! I can see how badly you want to!” Within moments you found yourself inside a dressing room in the said dress. You fell in love with it. It fit you like a glove. It was nothing flashy, it was subtle, but it had character. You felt like a lady. Not a scamp living in a church illegally, smelling like a bar.

“That dress was made for you miss! Try these shoes.” The shoes were gorgeous white pair of kitten heels. The dressmaker also equipped you white, silken gloves.

“What about a hat?” She asked excitedly while you cringed.

“Uhm, no thank you.”

“But it’s the races! You need one!” She insisted.

There was no money anyone could pay you to wear those ridiculously, oversized frilly and peacock feathered hats.

“The men are sure to have their eyes pop out when they see you with the hat! It completes the outfit!”

You shook your head with a smile, forced out of politeness. “It’s okay really, I am not going there to impress anyone.”

The lady sighed dejectedly.

“What a pity,” she muttered.

Within twenty minutes you bought the entire outfit without the hat and still had money to spare. Apparently the dress was on sale.

At least something went right today.

 

The next morning, you woke and waited impatiently  for the morning mass patrons to disperse.

It hurt like a motherfucker taking out those blasted alligator clips the hairdresser put in last night.

If only you had a mirror to see what you looked like.

“[Your name]!” Polly called as she spotted you walking toward the exit.

“I hadn’t seen you in the pews.” She commented as you came towards her with a smile. Uh oh. “I wasn’t at mass, I just came by to say a quick prayer before I run over to the shopping district.”

Polly looked at you with amusement, “What for?”

“I’m going to the races.”

“Oh, is there a man who I should be aware of? You’re hair is beautiful, [Your Name]”

You pulled a face of disgust.

“Your nephew and Grace.” Polly pursed her lips as she let out a sigh.

“Why?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Honestly, don’t know. I tried to get out of it, but he practically forced me.”

“That man…” Polly trailed, shaking her head.

“Is an arrogant arsehole.” You finished off her sentence. Polly’s lips twitched as she gave a low chuckle.

“I take it you didn’t go down without fighting?” She questioned with an amused brow up.

“…I may have called him a pig-headed donkey and spilled whisky over him?”

Her lips immediately quirked into a cat-like smirk.

“…It’s not funny. I may end up dead tomorrow.”

Polly paused and stared at your frightened face, before bursting out in laughter.  Only trying to muffle it behind her gloved hand, she was in a church after all.

Thankfully no one else was there.

“…Trust me girl. No one else would have walked out of the pub alive after saying that to him.”

Your eyes widened. Why on earth was she laughing then?

“He would have killed you already, you don’t have to worry [Your Name].”

Polly smiled knowingly at you as you let out a slightly relieved sigh. She gently grasped your hand and squeezed. “Trust me, he will not harm a single hair on you.”

You looked at her. You really wanted to believe her. “The fact that he let you walk out like that is a good sign.”

You almost scoffed. There was still time though.

 

“He may not ever say it, but he hasn’t forgotten what you did for Finn.” She uttered softly.

“Nor have I.” She murmured, her eyes warm and grateful.

“Please…It was nothing.”

Polly shook her head,” We’re gypsys. You have done something invaluable for us, we are in your debt [Your Name].”

“Well I release you from your debt,” you chuckled.

“It doesn’t work that way, my girl.” Her lips twitched in amusement.

 “I really have to run for my appointment. Please don’t tell anyone.”

Polly smiled softly at you and winked,” Aye, only God and Aunty Polly will know.”

You smiled gratefully as you left the matriarch to her prayers while you began to rush towards the salon.

You needed to get your hair brushed out and to return the clips.

Within a few hours, you found yourself fully dressed and dolled up inside the Garrisons. You felt overdressed. But, you loved your hair. For once in your life you had the 1920’s elegant waves in your hair.

Those bloody clips you slept with actually paid off, even though your scalp felt like it was being skinned.

“Oh boy, look who will be breaking hearts tonight!” Harry beamed at you from behind the bar.

You chuckled as you did a little twirl before ordering a shot of whisky. You were going to need it to get through the day.

Nodding you walked out to the entrance. A truck approached, perfectly on time like a well-oiled Swiss watch

Not a black car. Come to think, you couldn’t see Grace in the front seat.

“[Your Name]! You’re coming with us!” Arthur bellowed from the front seat of the truck.

You stood and stared momentarily. Well this was certainly a surprise. A good one you hoped, you didn’t have to be a third wheel to Grace and Tommy.

“Boys open the back! Sorry [Your Name], have a seat with the boys.”

A hand shot out to help you climb into the back. Finn. “Ullo’ [Your Name]! You look pretty!” You grinned as you got pulled up by John and Finn. It was certainly tight for fit at the back. You were sandwiched between John and Finn. It was warm, and you were pretty sure someone in the truck forgot to put their deodorant on.

“Tommy sends his apologies, there was a change in plans.” John spoke, a toothpick lodged between his teeth as he cracked his neck.

“We’re gonna need you to relay messages to Tommy for when we’re done with the Lee’s. To deliver some bags to him. You may need to sneak in.”

You looked at John incredulously. “What?”

“We’d stick out like sore thumbs. So he figured, why not use a beautiful young lady to make a delivery. Less obvious.”

You sighed and leaned your head back against the truck.

“I hate him so much right now,” you muttered as you felt a bout of nausea come across you. Motion sickness. It was stuffy as they had the back of the truck shut and you were all squished in like sardines.

All of the men were staring at you.

“Bang bang?” Finn questioned, breaking the silence.

All you heard were groans from all the grown men. “He’s been driving us bloody mad with that game you taught him, [Your Name]. He’s even got my kids on it!”

You giggled and ruffled Finn’s hair gently. “Good boy, Finn. Keep it up.”

After a few games, you began to feel woozier and woozier.

“How long do we have left?” You asked, leaning your elbows on your knees while you cradled your head in your palms.

“About another hour or so,” John commented, while one of the men let out a loud belch. Everyone laughed while John hollered,” Oi, we have a lady in our presence!”

“[Your Name]? Are you ok? You look green.” Finn piped, his brows were drawn in a frown. Cue, another fart resonated through the stuffy compartment.

You gagged.

“Oi [Your Name]?” John looked at you worriedly, patting your back.

“Please don’t spew! Not on my shoes!” He begged.

“Bloody Thomas Shelby,” you muttered, breathing in and exhaling deeply.

“I’m going to shove his cigarettes and whisky bottles up his-“

Cue a big jolt.

“…Arse.” Finn finished your sentence with an innocent grin.

 

You almost kissed the ground when you got out of that oven that is called a truck.

“Remember the plan: we need you out the halls outside the bathroom. Finn will run to you if anything needs to be done.”

Within an hour later you found yourself listening to shouts of agony outside the ‘little boy’s room’.

“Sorry sir, on behalf Cheltham hall I apologise but the restrooms are closed. Please use the other one around the corner.”

The man with his sharp suite raised an eyebrow. “Now why is a lady dressed so beautifully standing outside here? It’s a crime, you should be on the dancefloor.”

You gave him a soft smile,” It’s my job. Have a lovely afternoon sir. Oh, and don’t forget to put your bets in!” The man was about to open his mouth to voice something until an apparent groan of agony disrupted him.

“I demand to know what is going on in there?” The man ordered, in his posh accent. He sounded different to the Birmmies. It was strange to your ears.

“Ehrm. There was a man…He got…got stuck with his…his…” You paused, feeling your cheeks redden as you desperately tried to formulate a viable explanation.

“…in the toilet. His…got…stuck.” That was the best you could do.

The man paled. His hands suddenly blocked his privates in what seemed to be an instinctual response. “Oh…I shall be on my way.”

You heaved a sigh of relief. “Psst. [Your Name].” You heard Finn whisper.

“Tell Tommy that we are running late. Something about the Lee’s being at the wrong place and bad timing. Going to need more time…We need to do some clean up back here.”

“But where is he?” Finn shrugged.

“Lovely,” you muttered.

From memory he must be in the dancehall. Except you had no ticket. You needed to somehow sneak in. You strolled around the grounds looking for an alternate way in. It gave you a good opportunity to stretch your legs and practise walking with your heels.

However, there was no good way in. There were people checking for tickets at each entrance.

Obviously Mr Shelby hadn’t thought this part through. The arrogant schmuck.

All you had was a window in what appeared to be some sort of alley that covered the view from most people. The blasted window was at least three metres high and climbing up that wall in these clothes would be a nightmare.

Not to mention that anyone could be on the other side.

However, it was your only window of opportunity.

Groaning, you had no other choice. Picking up a nearby rock, you attempted to throw it through the open window. Only to miss. On your third go you had managed and heard no surprised gasps or moans of pain. Taking off your white gloves you folded them into your purse and placed the edge of the purse into your mouth. You needed your hands free for this stint.

Gingerly you unbuckled your shoes and threw them into the window. Once more, no sounds. Sighing, you reached out your arms and made a running jump. After a good few attempts, you managed to catch the ledge. Your poor hands ached, they were without bandages but still stitched.

Somehow you managed to pull yourself up, thanks to all the practise you got from sneaking into the church every evening. It was a dark hall, but you could still hear voices. Voices that were coming your way. You scrambled to find your shoes and some sort of hiding place. The best you could find was a decorative curtain that framed a mirror. Thankfully it was dark coloured and long. They would not be able to see your silhouette or your bare feet peeking out from underneath.

“So far I’ve yet to see Shelby.” A scratchy, nasal voice echoed down the hall.

“Amateurs,” the same voice commented.

Brilliant, just the man you hoped to avoid.

“Those curtains there look like vomit.” Said devil seemed to have paused right in front of you.

What kind of a bloody gangster notices curtains?

Holding your breath, you prayed to whatever higher being that he wouldn’t find you. He seemed to be stepping closer and closer.

“Why didn’t you tell me that my tie was crooked!” Kimber bellowed at what you assumed was his accountant and poor race staff. You nearly jumped at the volume.

You must have at least twitched.

“Did you see that?” Kimber asked.

“See what?”

“The curtain, it moved!”

Fuck.

 “Probably rats.” His wonderful accountant mentioned.

“What a disgrace,” he paused. You assumed he was admiring himself in the mirror.

“This place is getting worse by each year.” He snorted with disgust.

“And there are hardly any good-looking whores here!”

Ever hear about that cliché where you need to sneeze or fart in the worst possible your moment? Your nose was itching like a heard of ants were crawling through your nasal passages.

You could feel it coming. If only you could move to pinch your nose.

Thankfully, the egocentric buffoon started to walk down the hall. You managed to pinch your nose and hold your breath, effectively smothering the potential disaster.

At least you knew the way to the halls. Stepping out of the curtain with your  purse and heels in hand, you immediately began to fix you kitten heels onto your feet before another passer-by came.

Huffing, you straightened yourself out. Fixing your hair as best you could in front of the mirror and reapplied some lipstick.

It’ll simply have to do.

Thus you began your trail down the tiled walls, with your heel clicking and clacking. The sound of trumpets, drums and piano echoed a fast tempoed swing.

“Madam,” a staff member nodded to you, opening a curtain for you. You smiled, thanking every possible higher being that he did not ask to show any documents.

The hall was bustling with dancing couples, loud chatter and cigarettes. Thankfully all the ladies had taken off their hats, so you didn’t stick out even more like a sore thumb.

You immediately spotted Kimber and the lady Grace, adorned with her red dress. Where was Tommy? Nervously you began to walk to the main crowd, scanning over tables.

Suddenly a hand was placed at your midback, startling you.  Your eyes had connected with pale blue ones.

Your breath hitched, fingers grasping the sides of your dress.

He was striking.

His chiselled cheek bones seemed to be even more pronounced by the freshly shaved sides of his hair.

You were breathless. His suite must have been custom made, because it framed his lean muscled shoulders perfectly. It had a contrasting grey striped pattern and he wore a simple white collared dress shirt.

He looked classy and timeless.

The man knew how to dress and made all the ‘men’ or lads in the future look like little boys.

You did not know whether to stomp on his toes with your heels or to plant a kiss right there and then on those luscious lips of his.

Fuck, he drove you up the walls.

Tommy’s own eyes had immediately found you the moment you stepped tentatively through the curtain. Almost like a shy, young girl. Gripping onto your purse as though it were some sort of shied.

So very different to the other women in the room, who dressed and danced with purpose. Coy coloured smiles, practically salivating at the thought of being noticed.

It was unlike the fiery woman who challenged and deliberately spilt whisky on him yesterday.

 Yet that blue dress you wore, it was hard to miss with the way it swayed with each step you took. The red lip stain on your lips, the gentle curl of your hair that fluttered softly across your shoulders.

Your eyes darted with innocent wonder, looking up at him like a sweet, surprised doe.

You swallowed, trying to find your never to act like a civilised adult.  “There’s been a hiccup…” You whispered. He nodded, his eyes moved momentarily from you scanning for what you assumed to be Kimber or Grace.

“The boys will be running late. There was an incident in the ‘little boy’s room’.” You raised your hands in quote marks for emphasis. Tommy nodded once more, his face kept entirely neutral. You never knew what was going through that head of his. His eyes then narrowed onto your hands.

“Your hands.” He gently grasped your palm, tracing fresh scratches. Nothing deep. Your stitches were clean and healing aside from the new scratches.

“What happened?” He began to inspect your other hand, his fingers leaving trails of heat across your skin.

Brows furrowing, you pressed you lips into a thin line,” Why do you care all of a sudden?”

 “Now’s not the time, [Your Name].” It was almost like he was talking to you like you were nothing but a child.

His eyes seemed to darken, narrowing on you.

He did not even have to say a single thing.

You were to choose your next words very wisely.

“…I had to climb in through a window. Almost got caught sneaking in. Managed to hide just in time.” You purposely avoided mentioning Kimber, lest Tommy started asking how you knew the man.

He blinked slowly, eyes moving once between your face and palm before returning to being emotionless.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, that you could read intent in them.

His were like an icy, impenetrable wall.

It always left you guessing as to what his thoughts, next actions might be.

“Would you join me for a dance?” His question had left you baffled. His hand was still at your waist, the warmth sending butterflies within your stomach into overdrive.

He was as volatile as the ocean, one moment thunderous then seemingly calm in a heartbeat.

“As part of the job or out of pleasure?” You asked.

You could not deal with this, hot and cold business.

 “What if I told you that I simply want to dance with a beautiful lady?”

There it was, another hopeful flutter in your heart.

Yet, you knew better. There was always an ulterior motive with him.

 “Am I going to end up in the canal tomorrow morning?“

Tommy sighed, voice deepening as he gently placed his fingers under your chin. “If I wanted you dead, you would have already been.”

You paused, eyes trailing to his full lips.

“Ehrm…I…don’t know how to… this kind of…music.” A pink hue dusted your cheeks while you pursed your lips together bashfully.

Driven by instinct, his hand came to gently brush a curl away from your cheek. You swallowed as his eyes refused to leave yours,” Follow my lead. It’ll be fine.”

Before you could utter a protest, Tommy wrapped his arm around your waist and gently grasped your hand, placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles before leading you onto the dance floor.

You breathed in deeply as you placed your other hand on his shoulder. Thankfully a waltz came on, something slower and less frantic. “Thank God,” you uttered.

Zumba did not prepare you for this, not like you could just start doing salsa or belly dancing in upper-class Britain in the 1920’s. You were way out of your element.

“Just relax,” he uttered, his deep voice soothing over you like a cool wave.

“One, two, three.” He counted the steps as he swirled you around, his Brummie accent warming you to the tip of your toes. Your bodies slowly became closer as you swayed to the live band. The dance movements became more natural. Almost as though you had danced together your entire lives.

You needed to stop yourself from thinking these things. It would only hurt later

 “There. You are a natural,” his lips neared your ear, whispering ever so huskily.

Closing your eyes, you lost your self in the dance.

Feeling his warmth, the music…You felt calm and free.

You wanted nothing more than to lay your head on his shoulder.

”And so are you Mr. Shelby. I certainly did not expect that.”

For once the two of you were not at each other’s throats. You quite liked this Tommy.

He gently twirled you, bringing you even closer. Your lips were but a tendril away. You could not stop staring into his hooded eyes.

 It always stole your breath away. You were in trouble.

“You know, I quite like this side of you Tommy,” you whispered, your fingers gently brushed the side of his neck as both of your hands were now placed at his shoulders. The new song was more upbeat, and all the ladies around you seemed to cradle the necks of their partners. Your own hands cupped the back his head as both of his hands now cradled your waist. The heat was eclectic, voracious and creeping through every cell of your body.

All you could smell was an intoxicating combination of cologne and cigarettes. It was purely him. You inhaled as his fingers caressed your waist while leading you closer to him. Chest to chest. Your breaths mingled while your eyes were entranced with one another’s. You felt his heat. His very presence inhaled you. Tantalising.

Your lips tingled with an insatiable need to be kissed.

His breath tingled oh so precariously along your lips.

He was the very definition of sinful temptation. God, you wanted nothing more than to feel his hot lips upon yours again. Properly. Not like all those nights ago where you ran straight after a mere taste. Honestly, you should have known that you would have only become addicted and always yearning to taste his delectable lips once more. You had sold yourself to the devil that night, and now you were dancing with him. Aching to kiss him again.

The music was starting to take a more bluesy, heavy turn.

“Ah. Found yourself another pretty girl, aye?” A snooty, nasal voice disrupted the two of you. The spell broke and immediately you both snapped your attention to Billy Kimber. You felt the muscles underneath your hand tense, it was like touching concrete. You gently released his neck, noticing Grace’s eyes burning through you.

Tommy had yet to release you. Instead, his grip tightened on you as he placed himself forward, his face once more impassive and nodded towards Kimber. Grace’s face was creased in a frown as Kimber held her tighter to him like an overgrown toddler possessive of his toy.

Her own eyes analysed how Tommy held you. Intimately. She did not miss how he stepped forward, almost protectively as though shielding your body from any potential harm. It must have been instinctual. It meant nothing. After all, Tommy and her had a moment before Billy Kimber appeared and demanded that she dance with him.

“Let’s talk business,” Kimber ordered.

“Come, my accountant is at this table.” He pointed to a table on his right.

“…I should go back,” you spoke. You did not need to be under Kimber’s radar. Nor did Grace want you there either, judging by the barely contained rage in her green orbs.

“What why? Come join us, miss…” Kimber trailed, both eyebrows raised.

“Oh, I really must go, my brother must be worried! I also misplaced my betting ticket with my him!”

Before Kimber could insist, Tommy interjected,“ Yes, go find your brother and tell him to be ready to pick you up soon.”

Looking at you once more into your eyes, you got the message: you need to get Arthur to hurry.

“Pleasure meeting you,” you nodded to Grace and Kimber as Tommy released you. You gave his hand a subtle, gentle squeeze before letting go. Letting him know that you understood if your eyes hadn’t already told him.

With that you immediately walked away, feeling Grace’s eyes burn into your back. She looked up to Tommy, finding that his own eyes were trailing after your form. She did not know how or what to feel about this attention he placed on you. Why were you even here?

“I didn’t know you invited [Your Name].” She whispered as Kimber talked to another gentleman, side-tracked for now. It was only until you disappeared through the curtains that he had turned his attention to herself.

His lips remained closed, simply leading her to the Kimber’s table.

 

This time you could walk out like a normal human being instead of dangling precariously over a ledge to drop yourself down onto the floor again.

All you needed to do was to locate the boys. Hopefully they were still around the bathroom area that you left them in.

Thankfully Finn had found you before them. “We need to get them to hurry. Tommy is already discussing business with Kimber. Is Arthur done?”

Finn nodded,” Yes, just now.” He led you to where the boys where picking money off knocked out, bloodied bodies and stuffing them into a duffle bag.

“Perfect timing. Come help me with these.” Arthur led you over to an inconspicuous side door. One that you could have used in the first place when you oh so conveniently snuck in.

“Are you ok?” You asked, noticing the blood on his face.

“Just some scratches and bruises. The job got done without a hitch,” Arthur grinned while handing you over the duffle bag.

Nodding, you uttered,”…wish me luck.” Arthur laughed as you walked in, shaking his head as you awkwardly excused yourself amongst the crowd.

You eventually found Tommy seated with the accountant. Looks like Grace had gotten dragged into another dance with Kimber. His eyes met yours as he excused himself momentarily from the accountant.

 “Here are the bags. Arthur and the boys are fine, it went without a hitch.” You uttered as his hand brushed against yours while taking the bags from you. Tingles fluttered right where he had touched you.

“…Be careful Tommy,” you whispered, your hands went on auto pilot to adjust his slightly curved tie. Your hands gently brushed against his chest as you leaned up on your tippy toes to place a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You immediately turned away and began to manoeuvre yourself around the crowd towards the side door. You were too afraid to look back. Why? Why did you do that?

“Ah, [Your Name] was it? Come to our table and join us. I trust everything has been sorted with your brother since you’re back here,” Kimber appeared in front of you with Grace. They had just finished dancing, there was a slight redness to their cheeks.

He gave no room for argument and thus you found yourself seated between Grace and Tommy, across Kimber and his accountant. Right where you did not want to be.

“I found this little birdie here. Tommy bring her as well. I’ll increase the deal with a further 3 percent if she joins in on our…arrangement back at my manor.”

You immediately tensed, gripping your dress beneath the table. You knew what that meant. Your eyes immediately flew to Tommy’s in alarm, you did not want to go.

“I’m sorry Mr. Kimber but I must decline. I will be going home with my brother soon.”

“Oh, but I insist. I’m sure Tommy here will be able to drive you home. It’s settled now, young lady.” Kimber stated with a smirk, eying you lewdly like you were a piece of juicy steak that he could not wait to get his teeth into.

Your jaw tightened at his condescending tone and at his disgusting eyes. You felt a hand gently grasp yours from under the table. It was Tommy. Your eyes flew to his as his thumb gently caressed the back of your knuckles as though to calm you. You sighed and leaned back against the chair, gently squeezing his hand back. You were stuck and officially involved in something you wanted to avoid all together in the first place.

Grace was going to have questions. She was going to tip Campbell off. You were going to have to give some ‘valuable information’ to him or be handed up on a silver platter to death. You exhaled deeply as Kimber continued to gloat about his manor, his cocky smirk was grating on your nerves. Tommy had still yet to let go of your hand. It was oddly calming to all the thoughts running through your head.

“Well then, let’s make our way.” Kimber stood up with a Cheshire grin on his face as he gave an elbow to Grace.

They turned around while Tommy released your hand, the two of you stood up. “Don’t worry, I think I know what his ‘arrangement’ may entail. But don’t surprised if I end up knee ing him in the crotch.” You whispered as you both followed Kimber and Grace to his oh so lovely manor. Feeling something in you warm at the slight twitch of his lips.

“You owe me big time for this Mr Shelby.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely readers, I have a question for you all!
> 
> Do you prefer shorter chapters or long ones like this?
> 
> ...The word count for this chapter was 7257, which means i'm averaging about 5000 words per chapter. Not sure if that's too long or easy on the eyes. Just want to make sure that you all can enjoy this ;)


	6. Kimber the Casanova

 

# Chapter 6: Kimber the Casanova

Must. Keep. Calm.

Must. Keep. Calm.

You muttered those three words repeatedly as though it were a sacred trance. Kimber had you and Grace in what you thought was an entertainment room. There was a large pool table and lounges leaning across the walls. Kimber had strode over to the corner of the room to put music on. Romantic music. Casanova thought he was going to get lucky.

“Grace…we’re going to need to work together for this one,” you whispered as Kimber struggled to get the gramophone to work. She stared at you with a cold expression, only to give up with a sigh as she gazed back at the man who was leering at the two of you as though you were pieces of meat. She nodded.

“Mr. Kimber, fancy a game of pool?” You asked, with a bright smile on your face.

“Oh yes, a wonderful idea.” Grace spoke sweetly, mirroring your smile.

He smirked at both of you,” Do you even know how to play? I’m sure we can amuse ourselves with other things…like some dancing.”

You had already taken out a pool cue, handed one to Grace and the other for yourself. “You are a man of competition? I’m sure you wouldn’t shy away from playing a game of pool with two ladies here, would you as our gracious host?” You asked, challenging his ego and manhood ever so politely. His smirk fell and a scowl marred his face.

“…I will oblige you ladies.”

You had the balls set up and allowed Kimber to start. However, when it came to your turn, the bloody git decided it was up to him to teach you properly how to ‘handle a stick properly’.

He stepped behind you and was pressed rather tightly at your backside. His little friend from down below had also appeared as he moved ever so often to help you adjust the cue with the proper ‘angle’. Grace looked on with horror. Well she was a load of help.

“Oh it’s ok Mr. Kimber. My brother taught me, you don’t need to assist me.” You bit out with gritted teeth. You even felt him sniff at your neck like a mongrel. “Mm, not well enough I think.” He pressed himself even more to you when you tried to move away from his grasp.

This will not do.

Angling the pool in a precise manner, you aimed and pulled back the stick. Effectively slamming the brunt of it into Kimber’s ‘little friend’. “Oh would you look at that. Three went in.” You commented before turning around the snivelling man on his knees.

“Oh apologies, Mr. Kimber. Did I hurt you?” You asked ever so innocently, looking up to Grace. Her lips were twitched up in amusement and perhaps a hint of satisfaction.

“Yes you bloody whore!” He bellowed. His face was as red as boiled lobster. Uh oh. You forgot that he was volatile.

“Enough of this idiocy. You,” he pointed at Grace. “Get undressed.”

He stood up, wincing as took a glass of whisky and downed it. He then let it drop from his fingers.

“And YOU, pick this up.” He pointed at you, his face laced with rage. You merely looked at him with a raised eyebrow, leisurely leaning against your pool cue.

“Grace, your turn.” You uttered, gesturing to the pool table.

“No.” Kimber strode towards Grace and ripped the pool cue out of her hands.

“You pick up the glass.” He was now demanding her to pick it up. “No.” She uttered, scowling as he continued to press.

“I said. Pick. It. Up.” Kimber spat, pressing now into her back.

“Mr. Kimber, this is not polite etiquette. You will let her go.” You demanded, walking towards them with clenched fists.

“Why? She’s a barmaid. Barmaids pick up glass. NOW PICK. IT.UP.” He bellowed. Grace began to pick for her gun in her purse, only to be slammed against the table.

“Mr. Kimber…I wouldn’t quite do that if I were you. You see, she never told Mr. Shelby that she has the clap.” You placed and arm between them.

“I insist. You do not want to be diseased, sir.” You reiterated ever so politely.

His eyes widened. “Get out.” He barked at Grace. You nodded at her, her eyes were almost comically wide. “Go,” you mouthed silently to her. She paused momentarily before grasping her clutch and quickly trailed out the room, slamming the door behind.

Now it was just you and him.

“Now you…pick it up.” He began to walk to you.

“Apologies sir, I must politely decline.” You uttered as you began to back away, eyes scanning the room for any ideas to get yourself out of this ridiculous situation.

“You see, I have had problem with my back-“

“PICK IT UP!” This time he grasped you violently slammed you onto the table, your ribs hitting the side of the table hard.

You exhaled loudly, wincing as the man began to lift at your skirts. Shit, it hurt to breathe. You were going to have to get a little violent, you were not someone who got manhandled.

“What if I told you I had the clap as well?” You questioned breathlessly as you tried to direct your thumb  into his eye. His hand immediately clutched your hands with a sadistic cackle.

“I can smell virginity on you dear girl. It’s a wonder that Shelby hasn’t shagged you yet. Now be a good girl…”

Your knee immediately went up only to have it blocked by his leg. Well then, the man wants to play dirty. You were going to play bloody.

In what was with speed was invisible to the naked eye, your forehead collided with the mosquito’s nose. It was at that moment that Tommy had barged into the room. His eyes were livid as he looked at the scene. Grace was behind him and gasped.

“YOU BLOODY BITCH!” Kimber grasped at bloody nose, stepping back as he gazed at the running blood.

You slowly stood, wincing as you moved your chest awkwardly. “Sorry, I had to sneeze.” You uttered, almost mockingly to the despicable man.

“Apologies Mr Kimber,” you uttered as you stepped away only to walk into a hard chest.

You gazed up into a violent pair of blues eyes that looked as though could bring the apocalypse at any moment. “Sorry sir, we didn’t tell you.” You spoke loudly, so Kimber could hear. That way Tommy at least still had a chance of getting the deal. You gently tapped at his chest, your brows going up as you looked to Kimber. ‘Play along Tommy.’ You tried to convey with your eyes. He took a deep breath, blinking once at you before walking towards Kimber.

“Apologies, they will be dealt with accordingly.”

Kimber groaned and waved his hand loosely. “The extra 3%  is off. Get that bitch out of my sight.” You almost laughed as you walked towards the door, nodding at Grace.

Nothing was said as the three of you walked towards the black car. You climbed into the backseat, immediately taking off your heels and laid down. The other two got settled at the front, silence continued to ring between the two.

Ah, their first lovers spat.

At that stage, you couldn’t care any less. Your eye lids weighed a ton and were begging to be closed. You clasped your hands underneath the side of your head in a makeshift pillow while your curled your legs in a fetus position.

You were exhausted. Both mentally and physically. There was a dull ache in your ribs and you could only hope it was some bruising from Kimber knocking you on the corner of the table.

The leather seat was unbelievably comfortable. Especially when you compared it to your ‘bed’ behind the church organ.

A sudden weight and warmth encased you. You blearily opened an eye, Tommy had just turned away and turned the car on.  It rumbled and vibrated under your form. You then looked at what covered you. His suite jacket. It smelled like him and was like a comforting, sweet embrace. Closing your heavy eyes, you nuzzled into the warm and delicious smelling fabric.

 “Thank you…” You mumbled sleepily, before losing yourself to the rocking of the car.

You didn’t know when but when the road begin to get bumpy, you slowly woke up.

“…She’s like a child Tommy.”

Your ears perked as you continued to keep your eyes closed. You figured that it would be better if they thought that you were still asleep.

“Why did you invite her to the races?” She asked.

Tommy remained silent, one hand gripping the wheel while the other held a cigarette to his mouth.

“…I was a lady at the beginning of this and now I have the clap,” Grace broke the silence. Her graceful brows concaved, lips pursed as she looked at Thomas.

 “A whore.” She whispered, shaking her head dejectedly

You almost let out a scoff. She was always playing the innocent martyr card and it was getting old.

“You are a bastard for offering me like that. For even letting her-“

“That’s enough Grace, you’ll wake her up.” Tommy ordered, his eyes never leaving the road nor did his face show any opportunity.

Grace sighed looking at the silent man.

“But then you changed your mind. Why did you change your mind Thomas?” She asked softly, needing some sort of reassurance that he cared. About her.

He merely kept silent, face neutral. She could not read anything off him. It was as though talking to a brick wall.

What was even worse, his eyes would glance up ever so often in the mirror to check your form. Her green eyes narrowed, lips pursing at the reflection of your sleeping face.

When you had woken up once more from your nap in the car, you saw that you were back in the streets of Small Heath. “Could you please drop me off at The Garrisons? I left my groceries there.” You asked, rubbing your bleary eyes as you sat up yawning. It gave a good excuse for him to not to drop you off at ‘home’.

“If anything I need a bloody drink after all this.” You muttered as you witnessed the silence between the two at the front.

“What happened? Was there a funeral I missed?” You tried to lighten the mood.

Both ignored the comment.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know you think! ;)
> 
> The song mentioned is called 'Suzanne' by Leonard Cohen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svitEEpI07E


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